Chapter Sixteen
C rossing the river was difficult.
Even though the air was pleasantly warm despite the coming shift in seasons, the river was freezing .
We had to backtrack, following the length of the river for what felt like miles, until we spotted a place for safe crossing—a wider passing downstream where the current slowed.
But finding that safe passage cost us the rest of our daylight, and we had to make quick work of crossing the frigid river to avoid being cast into total darkness while in the water.
Now safely on the adjacent bank—our only casualty a cut sliced down my calf by a jagged rock beneath the surface—we change into dry clothes under the glow of the moon and continue hiking through the thinning pines and into the denser silver birch and cedar trees beyond.
For a while, everything feels like it’s going to be alright. That we’re making progress and our solution is going to work.
Until the familiar bone-chilling sound of claws on stone pierces the quiet, and a rancid smell clots the air.
My spine straightens at the traveling howl, not far from where we walk between the trees.
Close.
The sound is way too close.
The smell of rotting flesh overtakes the once sweet breeze, and my eyes water as I force back the gag threatening to rip from my throat. Twigs creak and snap behind me, a bundle of fallen leaves snagging .
Then comes the clicking of sharp claws rasping against each other.
Gray, only a few paces in front of me, turns his head at the eerie sounds, and I don’t need to turn around to know whatever creature lurks in the darkness is one of nightmares.
The blood draining from Gray’s drawn face and the panic overflowing in his eyes tells me all I need.
“ Run ,” he demands.
But my body refuses to move. Instead, slowly—much too slowly—I creak my head and glance behind me.
To find a pair of eyes, glowing like molten lava, staring back.
The creature is only about twenty paces away, and the overwhelming smell of rotting flesh almost makes me puke.
Its body is shaped something like a wolf, but three times the size.
It has ashen looking flesh with sunken, glowing eyes like a snake.
The creature has no lips, and a slew of jagged, razor sharp teeth jut from its gums, exposed to the world.
Two large, pointed horns tower on its head, accompanied by two smaller horns on each side.
I need to move. I need to run . But my feet are planted into the soil, defiant to my will. I find I’m only capable of gaping at the creature as it moves with unnatural swiftness—unnatural predatory grace.
It isn’t until the creature stands upright, towering on its hind legs, and closes the gap to six paces in two, fluid steps, that I feel a pull on my arm, dragging me forward.
“We have to move , Lyra.” Gray’s voice bounces as his feet pound against the ground in a sprint.
It takes me a moment to realize my feet are doing the same.
We sprint through the trees, up a hill, and then take a hard left; Gray tightly clutching my wrist, guiding me the whole way.
We descend down a back slope and meet a fresh patch of overgrown grass and vegetation.
Gray halts and stuffs me into the green thicket.
He pushes my shoulders toward the ground, silently commanding me to crouch.
“Do not move,” he whispers, breathless. “Wait until you see a silver comet soar above your head. That’ll be your cue to run. Do you understand? ”
“I can help you.” I reach for his arm, but he pulls away and shoots me a look.
“Don’t be foolish, Lyra. Three days of training does not make you a match for a creature of this caliber.”
“But—” I begin to protest.
“Please,” his voice is gut-wrenchingly soft. “Please,” he repeats. “I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. If you go with me, I’ll only be distracted, worrying about your safety.” He brushes his fingers against my cheek. “So please, stay hidden and be silent.”
I swallow back my protests and nod my head.
That life-draining howl pierces through the wind, and the large, wolf-like creature emerges from the trees. The light of the moon slides off the creature, as if it were made in darkness and swallows any light.
Gray looks at me a final time, scanning my eyes. His mouth opens like he is going to say something else, but he quickly presses his lips together and kisses my forehead instead. “Remember the signal. Regardless of if I follow, you run , Lyra.”
Then he unsheathes the sword from his back and runs toward the creature, whose claws are as long as the sword in his hand and twice as thick.
Crouching within the overgrown weeds, I watch as Gray charges at the beast. He must have wielded some sort of illusion on it.
For one moment the creature is locked in on Gray and his movements, and the next, the creature acts as though it has lost him entirely, tipping his lipless head into the air and sniffing.
But then the creature locks in on some sightless smell, and those molten eyes reignite with wicked delight as it throws its claws out into the world.
Gray braces his forearm against the blade of his sword to stop the iron-sharp claws from piercing through his chest. He drops to the ground and slashes steel against its heel, drawing black, oozing blood.
The beast roars with fury. It thrashes its teeth toward Gray, and he has little time to evade its strong jaw. Pieces of his tunic weave through the creature’s canines as bright, red blood drips down its face .
Gray’s blood, I realize with no small amount of horror.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to not shout his name. To not stand up and run to him. But I saw the pleading look in his eyes. Heard the desperation leak through as he asked me to stay.
Gray narrowly avoids a swipe of the creature’s dagger-like claws and stumbles backwards. The creature lunges forward, and Gray uses the moment to side-step the attack and slice at the ashen beast’s eye.
The slice hits true, and an immediate oozing split cleaves its left eye. The creature howls in both rage and agony as it rises up on its hind legs. Gray wastes no time, gracefully striking his sword into the chest of the creature.
But the sword misses its heart—if it has one.
The creature swipes in a blind rage, this time hitting Gray directly and knocking him into the trunk of a thick tree.
The world slows to a near standstill.
I know I promised Gray I would stay hidden. I know I said I wouldn’t try to help. But a once buried set of words echo in my mind for the second time, bringing me to run even faster toward Gray and the beast.
I will not cower. I will not yield. I will not falter.
My lungs spazz for air. When I reach Gray, I slide across the moonlit covered ground and grasp the back of his limp neck. I repeatedly tap his cheek. “Gray,” I plead. “Gray, wake up. Come on.”
His eyelids flutter, and he groans before going fully limp.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath. “Shit. Shit. Shit .”
I gently rest him against the tree and turn back to the beast just in time to see it sniffing the air with a curious interest. The black blood oozing from its eye has already begun to clot and scab, and I can only hope it’s created a blindspot.
The creature lowers itself back on all four of its legs and digs its gnarled claws into the soil. Its face twists, and if it had lips, I’d wager it was wearing something like a sneer.
I reach for the power hidden beneath my veins. I try to float down and down, searching for the magic resting in that blackened void illuminated by twinkling lights and glowing threads. I grasp at it. Pour it into my veins. Will it to come forward.
I throw my hand out in anticipation of the power I’m about to unleash and—
Nothing.
Not even a tiny sprout of a single flower or a small vine rises from the ground.
Far cry from the magic I displayed in the king’s throne room.
It’s as if the beast knows it. It’s head cocks in an unnerving way, and it sniffs a final time before its molten eyes seem to flare.
I try once more, begging the magic to flood my veins and pour out of me. “Come on, come on,” I demand in a near silent whisper.
Yet…nothing.
The beast charges.
I dart right, back into the trees, attempting to take the creature as far from Gray as I possibly can. I figure, with the cover of night and nothing to guide me but the glow of the moon, the sea of trees is better cover than an open field of overgrown grass.
I zigzag as I run up the sloped ground, my thighs and calves screaming at me, my lungs burning like fire. I run and run until I trip over a protruding root and slam into the ground. My vision floods black and red, and my chin cries from the impact. But I pick myself up, dirt coating my skin.
As I rise, a small clink sounds beneath my tunic as a small vial clacks against the ground. My eyes widen as I remember the object resting at my chest. Realize I have a certain vial wrapped in twine around my neck.
Sterling’s words ring in my head. One drop on the tongue, and it would paralyze even a bull for at least an hour.
The paralyticus potion.
Ice slices through me in that now-familiar way, and when I turn, I find the beast sniffing the path I just ran through, Gray’s sword still protruding from its chest. It moves like it’s in no hurry. Like it’s taking its time with me, enjoying the hunt.
Within a heartbeat, I devise an entirely new plan. One that will require immaculate precision and unparalleled luck.
Under the cover of a broad cedar tree, I clutch the vial in my hand and send a prayer up to Ahlai, the Mother Goddess, and Saffi, the goddess who blesses those with cunning.
I draw in a measured breath. Then another.
The third is slow and thorough—drawn with an appreciation for its fragility.
After, I exhale it through tightened lips, and then I run.
Down to the other side of the sloped trees, back toward the river, I run and run, willing my legs to move like the warrior race once rumored to walk this continent.
Faster . My mind screams at me. Faster. Faster .
I don’t dare look behind me. That suffocating smell of rot and decay forcing itself into my nostrils, that slicing cold cutting into my bones, tell me enough.
I know the beast is close. So dangerously close.
Yet I’m counting on the creature enjoying the hunt, hoping it’s the reason it hasn’t struck yet.
Spots begin to form in my vision right as I see it, exactly where I remembered it to be.
I hurry toward the tree with shaggy bark, shaded in light grayish-brown. Its short petioles and oblong leaves confirm it’s exactly what I thought when we passed it earlier.
Honeysuckle.
I snap the thickest branch from the base of the bush and almost cry from relief when the plant’s pith is exactly as I hoped to find it.
Completely and utterly hollow.
I snap the stick in half to lessen the chance of failure, then uncork the vial and slide it into the hollow branch, open side first. Saffi must indeed be watching over me, because the opening extends all the way through and is wide enough for the vial to pass.
I press my thumb against the end, holding the vial in place as I tuck the stick behind my back and wait.
Within seconds, the beast lurks toward me, its molten eyes glowing with delight. Its razor-sharp teeth—still stained with Gray’s blood—glint in the moonlight. It prowls closer and closer, ultimately coming to a halt in front of me.
Within a blink, the beast pounces.
I jerk backward and stumble right as the creature pins me with its claws. They dig into my shoulder, and for a moment, I’m not sure which is worse: the white-hot pain jolting into my fingertips, or the smell of death that is so overwhelming, my body gags uncontrollably in reflex.
Its saliva, thick like paste, drips onto my cheek as it opens its mouth in a snarl inches from my face.
My brain screams at me.
Now!
In one quick motion, I bring the hollow stick to my lips, removing my thumb from the end, and blow with all the force a pair of lungs are capable of mustering.
The vial shoots out from the stick, making a soft swooshing noise as it soars directly to the back of the beast’s throat. Stunned, the creature recoils and coughs from the impact, the slender vial tumbling from its mouth, falling to the ground.
Empty.
The vial is so beautifully empty—the residue left from the green liquid serving as the only indication it had once been full.
I stare through heavy eyelids as the creature points its black, slimy nose to the sky and howls. I fight through the looming exhaustion, ignoring the warnings my body gives me as it tries to tell me I’ve lost too much blood—my vision fading.
Instead, I monitor the beast as it sways, trying to fight against the effects of the potion.
But not even a creature of this caliber is able to win against a potent concoction crafted by a skilled Gardner.
The beast hits the ground with a loud thud , and I almost feel a sliver of pity as I watch its molten eyes rapidly shift side-to-side, its chest heaving in erratic breaths, clearly stunned and confused as to why it’s no longer able to control its limbs.
After I’m sure the beast is fully paralyzed, I somehow muster the strength to peel my blood-stained body off the ground, wrench Gray’s impaled sword from the creature’s chest, and limp back down the slope, through the trees, back to Gray—who is still out cold.
By some stroke of luck, it is only when I reach him that my body gives out, my scratchy wheezing the only sound as I drift into the depths of a hazy unconsciousness.