Chapter Fifteen
G ray and I have just finished with our lunch and are trekking through a forest of overgrown grass and vegetation—passing around the bend of a towering anthracite mountain—when I spot ravens circling in the sky.
“Look,” I say to Gray, pointing a finger skyward. “Ravens.”
Gray tilts his head back, shading his eyes against the brightness of the sun. “Some might call that a bad omen,” he mutters flatly.
I nudge my elbow into his side. “I disagree. Ravens are just unfairly judged. They’ve been crowned the markers of death simply because of the color of their feathers and the nature of their diet.
But plenty of animals feast on carrion—it’s not just ravens, you know.
Yet a lion can be wicked and cunning, feasting on living flesh of the weak, and he is marked a king.
But the raven—arguably the most cunning of all—feasts on what’s around to survive and is marked a plague. Why?”
Gray glances at me, his brows high on his forehead. “I don’t know. I’ve never considered the question before.”
I tilt my head back and watch the three ravens fly in a circle, screeching. “Did you know,” I muse, my eyes still fixed upwards, “it’s rumored that ravens can bond with humans? That they may think and perceive similarly to ourselves.”
“I did not,” he answers. Gray chuckles, shaking his head and smiling. “But what I truly did not know is how fascinated you are with ravens.”
I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder .
We walk in silence, the gurgling sounds of the river and gentle brushes of wind accompanying us over the next mile. It isn’t until I see the same-looking bend at the same-looking anthracite mountain that I halt.
“What is it?” Gray asks through lowered brows.
I scan our surroundings with a sharp scrutiny. I take in the ferny, silvery foliage, rich with a balsam-like aroma. I notice the milkweeds, the bellwort, and the large-leaved asters. I spot the same hornberry tree I noticed a mile ago, standing next to a towering alder tree.
But perhaps it could be a different one. A new tree, in a new area, that looks an awful lot like the area we just so happened to pass.
A coincidence. Nothing more than coincidence.
“Lend me one of your daggers.”
Through narrowed brows, Gray unsheathes one of his daggers from his side and hands it to me.
The cool metal feels foreign in my grasp, but I tighten my grip on it as if it were an extension of me.
I approach the hornberry tree, and I dig the tip of the metal into the bark, the wood groaning as the blade slices marks along the trunk.
“What are you doing?” Gray asks from behind me.
“You haven’t noticed it yet?”
I don’t need to look at Gray to know he has folded his arms across his chest. I can hear it all in his tone. “Noticed what , exactly?”
I give a nod of approval at my carvings marring the bark. “That everything is the exact same as it was a mile ago.” I turn my attention to him and watch as he scans the landscape through a new lens.
“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.
I turn his dagger over in my hand and offer it back at the hilt. Gray takes it and sheathes the blade at his side.
“Only one way to know if I’m right or not.”
He releases a deep sigh and rubs his fingers along his brow. “You’re rarely wrong about this kind of thing.”
My face is neither victorious nor prideful when I respond, “ I know.”
We walk a mile before circling back and seeing the freshly carved hornberry tree.
Gray glides his fingers along the marks on the silvery-gray bark, smooth like glass—despite the name of the tree.
He glances right at the onyx-colored Endymion Mountains, the shiny black all but sparkling in the already fading sunlight, and then looks left, over the river and past the trees, toward the Cliffs of Yilandra.
“The only way through the valley and to Bathara is forward,” he contemplates aloud, the remnants of worry leaking through. “And if we continue in circles, that prevents us from moving forward. So how, then, do we proceed?”
I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen Gray’s eyes filled with such uncertainty.
Just as I’m about to respond, a slithering voice skulks through the wind.
“Neither here nor there ,” its snaky voice hisses. “ Neither friend nor foe. You wish to pass, don’t you?”
Gray’s eyes immediately lock on mine, and he shakes his head at me once—firm.
He doesn’t wish for me to answer.
I hold his gaze a second longer before slowly drawing in a steadying breath. I shoot Gray a quick look of apology before projecting my voice. “Yes. We do.”
A brush of delighted wind kisses my neck. As if that voice—ancient and cruel, both man and boy—wishes to show me its pleasure with me answering.
“And why should I help you?” the voice croons. “Why you, when I have let so many others wander lost?”
“Perhaps we can offer you something.”
I hear Gray’s palm smack against his forehead. I shoot him a pointed look before refocusing my attention to the faceless voice in the wind.
“And what, pray tell, do you believe you could offer me , mortal?”
The air around us plunges into an icy chill. The hairs on my body rise as gooseflesh lines my skin. “What is it you desire? ”
I feel a flickering inside me—an instinct.
Run. Run. Run , it seems to say.
I glance over at Gray—whose eyes watch me with concerted focus—and I see the snake on his wielder’s mark glowing with a deeply golden light.
I glance down at my veins, but glimpse no traces of color.
Another chill snakes down my spine, and I whip my head to the right, swearing I can feel the weight of a person next to me. But nothing is there except the towering anthracite mountains.
“A dangerous request.”
“There is no danger in the request. I can’t promise we can fulfill your desire, but I also don’t see the harm in knowing what your desires are. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I feel a crawling sensation—like a creeping spider—float down the length of my arm, until it reaches the very tips of my fingers.
“The thing I desire most is the very thing I can never have. I am forever intertwined with these lands, and here I will forever remain.”
“But you don’t wish to remain here?”
Gray is staring at me through furrowed brows, a thousand thoughts racing through his eyes.
A gust of frigid wind that feels unnervingly intimate brushes across my skin.
“ She was right about you. You are different ,” the ancient voice purrs with a poisonous curiosity.
“ Did you know, girl, that someday, a child will come—defined by a name both two and one—born from the ashes of a great love, whose untamed power can raise or crumble kingdoms.”
I pull at my brows. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“You will soon enough.” A low hum rumbles the ground. “ Yes, Ican see why she sent me, indeed.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and steel my nerves. “Who sent you?”
Another swirl of wind sweeps against me. “ Did you know the wind whispers to me? I have heard whispers of rising armies, creatures unseen for centuries, dark and forbidden magics moving through kingdoms. What strange times we’ve stumbled upon.”
“What’s your point?” Gray asks, his voice tight with frustration .
That brush of wind leaves me, and I watch as it wraps around Gray, circling him so forcefully, he stumbles backwards.
That sharp wickedness returns to the voice of man and boy, filling the world in a blanket of ice.
“ The scales are tipping, the fate of the kingdoms with it. What should happen if the two join together? Better yet, what will remain if they don’t? ”
Question upon question streams through my mind. Though I get the distinct impression that this voice is not one to patiently answer them. So, it is for that reason I ask, in my mind, the most pressing question at the moment. “Why are you telling us this?”
A low chuckle comes from nowhere, yet fills everywhere.
“ You’ll find out soon enough. For the strings of Fate are bound by threads of fire, ice, and shadow, and there is no escaping when they pull at you.
” Like a wind blowing from the salty seas, a chilled kiss sweeps across my cheek.
“ In the far north is an island. On that island lives a Diviner. She is the one who sent me for reasons only known to herself.”
“And why do as she asks?”
“Consider it a favor to an old friend.”
I arch a brow. “I’m surprised you ever had any friends.”
I swear I hear laughter echoing behind the mountains in response.
Suddenly, violent winds whip through the valley. The trees creak and moan as they sway, and the river roars in response. My braid flaps against the gust of cold, and Gray shields his face from the slicing ice laced in the air.
That ancient voice echoes loudly, but it drifts away from us, fading.
“ Remember this, Threadweaver: love is no lesser force than hate, and a scorned heart does not wither—it burns. And fire does not choose sides.” I feel a soft touch caress my cheek—like a finger gliding against my skin.
It strangely reminds me of what I felt during The Founding celebration.
“ I have now said what I’ve come to say. The way forward is not through. Try as you might, it will only confuse you.”
And then, as if out of nowhere, the wind ceases, and the voice disappears.
The descending orange sun warms my skin once more, and the river slows to a softened melody of water over rock. The milkweeds, bellwort, and blades of overgrown grass finally still, and a lull of noiseless calm sweeps over the valley—a welcome reprieve from the sweeping winds.
Gray shifts to face me. “What the hell just happened?”
“I think he was trying to…help us.”
“I don’t know,” he retorts. “My magic roared the moment his voice slithered into the air. Not to mention all those cryptic words of his.” Gray shakes his head, clearly bemused. “And why did he call you Threadweaver ?”
A good question.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “But I believe his parting words are true; we won’t make it out of this valley if we continue forward.”
Gray hums his agreement and rubs a hand along his jaw. “What do you propose we do, then?”
I survey the lands. The rivers, trees, neighboring mountains and cliffs. And then the words from the tale of Foreigner’s Valley ring in my head. After the seventh day, the foreigner—on the verge of madness—went across the valley instead of going through.
It hits me then.
“We cut across the valley,” I suggest. “To the Cliffs of Yilandra.”
He takes a measured breath, deliberating. “If we do that, we won’t make it to Bathara in time. Not unless we travel through the remaining nights.” He pauses, his eyes sharp with warning. “You know what my father said.”
Sterling’s warning echoes in my mind. Find a cave to rest in overnight, always quell your fire when the moon finds its peak, and never travel through the night.
Still, I see no other options. Not unless we want to be mice in a maze, playing at the whims of whatever magic curses this valley.
I express as much to Gray, holding his gaze firm all the while.
Gray pinches his chin between two fingers as he considers the options.
“You’re right,” he concedes through a sigh.
“I don’t see a better choice. We’ll change course for the cliffs, traveling through most of the night, stopping for rest intermittently.
” He looks at me with wary eyes. “Let’s pray my father was being overly cautious with his warnings. ”
Yet he and I both know Sterling is not an overly cautious man, but simply a wise one.