Chapter 35
35
A S THE GROUP rested in the depths of the cloud forest, Nyx cradled the limp form of Bashaliia in a thin blanket.
My little brother…
She knelt in a layer of brittle leaf litter and parted the wool to reveal a small furry face, his delicate nostrils, his fold of soft ears. She had carried him the past day and a half. He was so light, as if his bones were hollow or blessed with some magick that turned them to air.
Or maybe the life has already left him, leaving only this weightless husk behind.
She drew him closer and noted the barest flutter of those petal-thin nostrils. He still lived, which both broke her heart and warmed an ember of hope. She straightened enough to note Frell looking at her with concern. The alchymist had done all he could. He had plucked the poisonous spikes from Bashaliia’s thin neck and pulled the jagged stinger from under a wing. He had smeared a balm of herbal medicum over those wounds but promised no miracle. We can only hope the Myr bats have some natural ward against the malignancy of the skriitch, he had offered.
Jace sank next to her, sitting cross-legged, his face forlorn, mirroring how she felt. “Is there any sign of him reviving?”
She shook her head and moaned, “No…”
Kanthe stood several steps to the side, his bow in hand. He had crafted a few crude arrows by sharpening sticks and using clipped leaves or stray feathers as fletching. He had learned such a skill from a former teacher, a scout of these same greenwoods.
Even Jace had fashioned a spear from a long stiff branch. It rested next to him. So far, they had encountered no dire threat in these woods, a misty forest said to be home to panthers and Reach tygers. On the first night, they had lit a fire, which might have helped ward off any predators. Still, distant yowls and screams warned of their presence. Otherwise, the only large beast spotted had been a curl-horned boar that had traipsed across their path, but it had run off when Jace yelled, his scream more of fright than anything.
Kanthe had offered an unpleasant reason for their safe passage: Maybe the beasts know to stay clear of this corner of the Reach because of what lurks behind us. He had glanced significantly at Bashaliia in her arms.
She swallowed down her grief, leaving only despair.
Frell approached. She closed her eyes, knowing what he had come to say. She drew Bashaliia closer to her bosom.
“Nyx…” He settled to a knee next to her. “It’s been nearly two days since he was attacked. By now, the eggs inside his body are likely already hatching. We know his venomous slumber will not spare him the agony to come.”
She also knew this. This morning Frell had pinched the tender webbing between Bashaliia’s wing and body. While her brother had not moved, his breath had puffed harder, plainly feeling that pinch.
“What comes next will be unimaginably painful,” Frell warned. “It is no mercy to keep him alive when we cannot help him.”
“I understand,” she said.
No matter how much she wanted to deny his words, she suspected she had waited too long already. She hadn’t told anyone, but Bashaliia’s breath had been growing more strained, as if the worst was already starting.
She stared down at his head, no larger than her fist. She could still picture those same eyes, glassy now, staring across at her from the warmth of loving wings. She had already lost so much. Her dah, her older brothers gone missing. Even abandoning Gramblebuck had torn a hole in her heart that had not mended.
Now this…
She feared she could not survive it.
Kanthe came over. He slipped his dagger from its sheath at his waist. “Let me take this burden from you.”
Anger flashed through her despair. “He’s not a burden, ” she snapped at him. “Never a burden.”
A sob shook through her. She regretted her words, knowing the prince had only been trying to be kind. But she hadn’t the strength to apologize. It took all that was left inside her to lift an arm toward him.
“I will do it.”
Kanthe hesitated. Her hand began to shake. She looked up at him. Tears blurred her sight. He nodded and placed the dagger’s hilt into her palm. She firmed her fingers around it, anchoring her will to the heft of its steel.
“I… I’d like to be alone,” she whispered.
The others didn’t argue and retreated. Jace touched her shoulder in sympathy, then slipped away.
She took a deep breath and gently lowered the blanket to the bed of leaves. She peeled back its edges, revealing the fold of wings, cocooned around a frail body. Bashaliia’s head lolled back, exposing his throat, as if asking for her help.
Tears dripped to the wool, to the fur of his chest.
She clutched the dagger, unsure if she truly could do this. Still, the image of the dwarf deer, the violation of its body, welled through her. She recalled her earlier admonition when she heard the thylassaurs being attacked: No creature deserved such a cruel end.
She reached a finger and brushed the velvet under Bashaliia’s chin.
Especially you.
She continued to rub the spot that often made him purr in contentment when they had nestled together in the sledge. She lowered the knife’s blade to his throat—and still hesitated. She remembered Frell pinching her brother’s wing.
You still feel pain, so you will feel what I must do.
Her hand tremored. She knew a quick sting was better than a labored agony. But she hated to inflict even that. Bashaliia had saved her many times, maybe more than even she knew.
She lowered her chin, her shoulders shaking. She felt another wracking sob building. It rose from her throat as a low moan. When it reached her lips, it came out as a keening, a quiet song of grief. She did not fight it or question it. She sang to her brother, vaguely remembering doing this in a dream as they nestled in slumber together.
She closed her eyes, letting her song become her vision. She whispered into Bashaliia. Each note carried her down a dark well inside him. Somewhere deeper, he answered, a faint pining, like loonsong over still waters.
I hear you…
She keened back to him, not to draw him closer, but to gently push him farther away from his wracked body. She did not want him to feel even the sting of this blade. As she sang, he tried to stay, refusing to leave her, but she wrapped him in her song, letting her love and ache, her sorrow and joy, be his blanket now. She lifted him and carried him away.
As she did, ancient eyes opened at the well’s dark bottom and stared back.
She ignored them, focusing all her love on the spark she cradled.
Find peace, my little brother.
Knowing he was free of this body, she slit his throat.
K ANTHE HEARD HER footsteps stumbling toward them. He and the others had retreated to a nearby patch of briarberry, both to give Nyx privacy yet still be close at hand in case she needed them. He had intended to collect berries while they waited. But he didn’t bother. No one did. They stood with their heads bowed, each in his own thoughts.
He had listened to Nyx keening, nearly singing, at her tiny brother. He recalled hearing something similar as the girl had drowsed with the bat in the sledge. Only now, it was more refined. He heard the love and pain in each note.
Finally, she returned.
Jace crossed to her, but his steps stumbled.
Kanthe saw why. Nyx’s palms were covered in blood, as was her tunic and the edges of her cloak. He pictured her cradling her brother’s slaughtered form.
“I… I need your help,” she moaned.
As she stopped, she weaved on her legs, drunken with shock and grief. He hurried to her and caught her before she fell. She slumped in his arms but pointed back.
“I want to bury him, but… but…”
“We’ll do it,” he said, and glanced over her head to Jace and Frell. “We’ll all do it.”
He carried her over to the wrap of blanket resting in a bed of leaves. He lowered her to one side. He and the others parted through the leaves and mulch to reach soil. They dug a small grave. He reached to move the body to the hole, blanket and all, but Nyx shifted over, refusing to let anyone touch her brother.
She seemed to draw strength as she settled Bashaliia into the grave. She gave them a firmer nod and let them cover his body with soil and leaves. Once done, without anyone saying a word, they all gathered small stones and built a cairn atop it, marking the spot, honoring his sacrifice.
“Thank you,” Nyx said, seeming to encompass them all with her gratitude.
Kanthe nodded to the large tree crowning the small grave. The trunk was white, with a bark that curled in paper-thin slices. The leaves were green on one side, silver on the other. These trees were rare. It was why he had asked for the group to rest here. The surrounding forest was a mix of dark spruce, green pines, but mostly giant golden-leafed Reach alders, which vanished into the clouds.
He placed a palm on the curled white bark. “The tribesmen of these greenwoods call this tree Ellai Sha, or Spirit’s Breath. ” He ripped a piece of bark off the trunk and held it out to Nyx. The curl looked somewhat like a skrycrow’s scroll. “You carry this with you. If you wish to speak to those who have passed, you whisper into the curl, then burn it at a camp’s fire, where the smoke will carry your message high.”
Nyx took the curl, tears welling, and clutched it to her heart. She turned to the cairn and mumbled her thanks.
They gave her another few moments alone at the grave, then Frell finally spoke. “The day is already half gone, and we have a long way to trek to reach Havensfayre. We should continue while we still can.”
Jace stepped to Nyx. “Or we can stay longer here, if you wish.”
She faced them, her countenance sad but resolute. “No, Bashaliia gave his life for ours. I won’t waste the gift he gave us. We keep going.”
Kanthe studied her. He had long given up searching for any resemblance in her, trying to discern if she might truly be his half-sister. What did it matter? Only seeing her now, covered in blood yet still strong, he could not imagine she shared his lineage.
Not even Mikaen had ever shown such hidden steel.
Surprisingly, such a realization made him happy for her. And if he was honest, he hoped Nyx wasn’t his sister. For more reasons than just—
“Let’s go,” Frell said, tugging Kanthe around. “If we make good time, we could be at Heilsa by midday tomorrow. Then Havensfayre by the last bell of Eventoll.”
They set off again, following the sliver of lodestone in the alchymist’s wayglass, and headed north.
Kanthe trailed at the back, bow in hand, an arrow already notched. He had heard many tales from Bre’bran—the Reach hunter who had instructed him two years ago—about the dangers hidden within the beauty of this ancient forest. Bre’bran had warned how Cloudreach lulled the unwary into lowering their guard—with the sweet piping of birdsong, the dabble of its silver brooks, the breath of wind through leaves. Even the unbroken layer of clouds stirred languidly above, casting a mesmerizing spyll, enhanced by wisps of mists drifting like the dreams of those below.
More so, the forest itself drew the eye with its beauty. It refused to be ignored. In all directions spread a march of huge alder trunks, each as wide as a full-grown ox. These eternal mist-giants were the white pillars of the forest. They held up the sky and vanished into the clouds. From their many layers of branches, golden-green leaves flickered with each breeze, whispering at them in the unknown language of the ancient forest.
Under that ghostly canopy, a patchwork of dark green copses marked stands of spruce and pine. Lower still, the forest floor was blanketed in leaf and needle, with stretches of pink fireweed poking through. Every rock and boulder was scribed with lichen in bright patterns of scarlet, crimson, emerald, and sapphire. The bushes were a mix of juniper, chokeberry, buckbrush, even scrabbly winterroses.
He watched a burst of a dozen ruby wings rush through high branches, long tails flicking black, then silver, as if signaling the forest ahead of their approach. Then, as if drawn in the flock’s wake, smaller birds, plumed in copper and gold, arrowed after the others, piping down at the trespassers, scolding them.
Rustling to Kanthe’s right drew his attention.
He looked down in time to spot a bevy of spotted pluck-quails race across the leaf litter, tiny dobbins bobbing atop their heads. He swung his bow up, hoping to spear one, maybe two. But they vanished into the underbrush before he could set his aim.
He began to lower his bow—then his heart pounded with recognition.
All the birds had been aiming in the same direction. Ahead of us. He glanced over his shoulder. The forest stared back, as blank-faced as ever. Had something roused them, panicked them into flight, more than the tread of their footfalls?
He turned to the group.
Nyx…
Her clothing was still damp with blood.
He breathed harder, his ears straining for any soft padding of paws or grumble of threat. He heard nothing but was not fooled. Whatever boon had kept the forest’s predators away had ended, broken by the allure of fresh blood in the air. Something had picked up that scent and trailed them.
He rushed forward to the others. They sensed his distress and turned.
“We’re being hunted,” he warned.
Jace searched all around, clutching his spear to his chest.
Frell frowned back at their trail. “Are you sure? By what?”
Kanthe had no answer to either question, only a certainty in his bones. He had been a hunter for too long to ignore this instinct.
Nyx stared at him, seeming to accept his word. “What do we do?”
He winced and pointed at her. “You need to shed your bloody garb.”
She stared down at herself.
“Everything,” he stressed. “Anything with even a drop.”
She didn’t balk. She stripped her soiled cloak and loosened the cords on her tunic and yanked it over her head. She stood in her breeches, soft boots, and a sleeveless undertunic. The last was speckled with blood that had seeped down to it. With a huff, she reached to pull it over her head.
Jace dropped his spear, unfurled his own cloak, and hid her nakedness behind it. He kept his head turned away.
Kanthe nabbed what she had already discarded and ran to either side of their path and tossed one piece in each direction. He returned to catch her undertunic as she tossed it to him.
He lifted it to his mouth and clamped it between his teeth. The scent of her sweat and skin filled his nostrils.
Jace frowned at him. “What are you—?”
He brusquely waved the question away, turned to the nearest alder, and scaled its lower branches. He climbed as high as he could, then tacked the garment to the trunk with one of his arrows. He prayed that what stalked them might be deceived into believing its prey was hiding up the tree, at least long enough for them to get away.
He dropped back down and snapped a branch from a spruce. He handed it to Nyx, who now wore Jace’s cloak. “Smear your hands with the sap, to mask any blood still lingering there.”
As she did, Kanthe herded them all forward. “Swiftly now. I don’t know how much freedom this will buy us.”
They hurried off, with Kanthe hanging back, still watching the quiet forest. He held his breath for long stretches, straining for any sign of pursuit. He stopped with his bow up when he heard a faint snap of a branch far in the forest.
He listened harder but heard nothing else.
You’re still out there, aren’t you.
Scowling, he headed after the others, who had fled a ways. By the time he closed on them, he heard whispers of distress, along with a low burble of water. The others had reached a small river, running along stony banks and lined by yellow willows on both sides.
He arrived in time to see Jace down on one knee, filling a waterskin.
Frell’s eyes widened as Kanthe joined them. “Anything?”
“Not that I could spot. The bastard’s a sly one, I’ll give him that.” He pointed across the river. “Maybe once we’re across, we can—”
Jace bellowed and fell backward from the river’s edge, landing on his backside. The waterskin he had been filling drifted away from the bank, floating atop the current.
Nyx stepped toward him. “What happened?”
“Stay back,” Jace warned. “Something leaped at me, tried to bite my hand, but latched on to the hide instead and pulled it away.”
He pointed at the bobbing waterskin, which jerked and turned in the current, as if attacked from below.
Something’s clearly in the water.
Kanthe tried to peer through the river’s mirror into its depths. As he leaned, a heavy crashing of brush burst behind him.
He spun around.
Finally, it comes.
From the noise, it was large, aiming straight at them. His bow and small arrows would not be enough. He snatched the spear that Jace had left beside the stream. “Get back,” he warned them all.
He shifted to the front, trying to judge the direction of the attack. He planted the butt of his spear in the dirt and braced it with a foot, leaning the sharpened end toward the forest.
He barely got it fixed before a giant boar burst into view, easily taller than Kanthe. It barreled toward them, tusks running low to the ground, froth flying from its lips. It charged at their group.
Kanthe put all of his weight into holding the spear, hoping he could impale it and leap to the side in time. He braced for the impact—only to have the boar veer away at the last moment. Kanthe cringed from its path as it crashed past them. The beast dove through the sweep of willow branches and leaped headlong into the river.
Kanthe straightened as it surfaced and kicked frantically for the far shore. Kanthe’s heart still pounded in his throat. He turned back to the forest. Something had frightened that boar, bad enough for it not to bother with their group.
As if confirming this, a low chuffing growl flowed from the misty forest.
Kanthe’s bollocks tightened in his loins.
No…
He knew that noise. Bre’bran had imitated that sound long ago. He warned Kanthe that if he ever heard such a call that death would follow.
The others gasped behind him. He turned, but they were all facing the river. A braying bellow rose from out in the water. The boar thrashed midriver, caught in a churn of whitewater. A closer inspection revealed flashes of silvery fins within the roil. In a breath, the waters turned crimson. The beast’s bulk rolled, exposing legs gnawed to bone, with scores of creatures leaping and snapping at muscle and tendon. The boar sank away, dragged alive into the frothing depths.
Kanthe knew what feasted in those waters. Bre’bran had warned of this danger, too. He watched the abandoned waterskin turning in the stream. Something leaped atop it. It looked like an oilskinned black frog with glowing purple stripes on its flanks. It was twice the size of Kanthe’s fists and appeared to be all legs at the rear, except for a long, finned tail that draped into the water behind it. Large bulbous eyes stared back at them, as if challenging them.
“Away from the water!” Kanthe yelled.
He grabbed Nyx and pulled her back, which drew Jace and Frell.
The creature jumped to the bank and landed heavily. Its mouth gaped open, revealing a maw of sharp, pointed teeth, green with poison.
“What is it?” Nyx asked.
“A pyrantha.” Kanthe nodded to the churn of bloody water. “Flesh-eaters. With venom in their bite.”
Nyx and the others backed away—not that it would do any good. Pyrantha were not limited to the river. From the water’s edge, more of the beasts surged to shore, clambering, hopping, and writhing toward them. They massed along the bank, piling over and atop one another.
Frell looked at Kanthe.
Behind him, the chuffing sounded again.
Kanthe winced with sudden knowledge. Bre’bran had warned about the predatory nature of this hunter in the woods, how its cleverness should never be misjudged, how it transformed the very forest into its jaws.
Kanthe turned to the misty glade, recognizing the truth now.
It herded us here, trapping us against this deadly river.
From the forest’s depths, a pair of eyes finally revealed themselves, fiery and savage. The sight brought back the final warning from Bre’bran.
If you see the eyes of a Reach tyger, you are already dead.