Chapter 4 #2
Making my way down the hall, flames race faster over every square inch of my body, searching for a way in. I have no more room for it.
Deciding the corridor the snake crawled out of is my only option, I release every flame in a violent crack of magic that jolts my body backwards.
Fire barrels down the stone, a stampede of flames, and then it explodes like a hand grenade, the echo ringing out through the halls.
There’s a muffled shout, then a grunt, and I whirl towards the sound with my hands up, ready to fight.
Down the hall, sparks still dancing over stone, there’s a body slumped against the wall.
I killed someone. Oh my gods, I killed someone.
My feet can’t get me there fast enough, and as I near the slumped figure, burned and blistered, I recognize him instantly.
“Phoenix!” I shout, sprinting the rest of the way towards him. His burnt flesh ripples, the mender pill stitching it back together.
With brutal clarity, I realize why Callan had taken one too. And why he’d said, “we.”
“Gods, Nix! Are you okay—”
Phoenix starts laughing. A manic and sinister laugh that crawls over my freshly healed skin.
As quickly as it started, it stops, and he slips into a deadly calm, his colorless eye darkening somehow. “I’m gonna get you,” he grunts.
I back away a step, my eyes widening, and he tracks the movement much like a predator would.
“Faster, little Reenan,” Nix taunts. “As soon as I heal, you’re fair game.”
My eyes bulge as I turn, taking off down the corridor to the sound of more manic laughter.
I take random corners, spinning around at dead ends, all while constantly checking over my shoulder. The anticipation is scarier; the promise of coming face to face with whatever is next. If it’s anything like the Scarlet Serpent, I’m fucked.
Soon, it grows eerily quiet once more. The only sound aside from my footsteps is my desperate attempt to steady my breathing.
I jump when some sort of fog sweeps out over the dark grey stone, pouring from around the next corner. Then comes the sound of rushing water, followed by the soft creak of…wood? Like a bridge swaying or a dock bobbing over shallow waves.
Magic rushes to my fingertips, the portion I’d kept from the snake. My Solian reserves have dwindled enough that the beast lurking in the void beneath rears its head—a silent request to invite him up.
I decline.
Refusing to let my swelling fear fester, I choke down a few more breaths, and I force myself forward.
I turn the corner in one quick step and nearly lose my balance, my arms shooting out to wave in wide circles.
My stomach flips, my heart sinks, and only when I’m steady enough to catch my breath do I register my surroundings.
I’m teetering off the edge of a cliff.
A fucking cliff.
The rock I’m standing on is perched high above a thunderous current of water. The roaring, rapid rises and crashes around me, water spraying onto my face. The air is foggy, barely clear enough to make out the tops of the stone walls of Albatross towering on the other side.
I’ve never hated Callan more than I do right now. As soon as I catch my breath, I flip off the sky—just in case he’s watching—then I begin to assess the very unfortunate obstacle I’ve found myself in front of.
If I’d known this godsforsaken place was a part of Initiation, I would have found some way to get some pointers, and I would have started with Pax. He would have given me some hints at least. Anything would have been more than what Callan provided.
Wiping a spray of water off my face, I prop my hands on my hips. I’m going to have to cross. That much is obvious.
My knees shake as I peer over the side of the rock, looking for anything that I can use, but all I can see through the dense fog is a plank of wood.
The sigh I let out is audible and dramatic, more of a groan than anything.
The plank stretches out over the water, disappearing into the fog until I can’t see the end of it. But there’s nothing else here for me to use. No other way across.
I think I’d rather face another three-headed snake.
The step I take down to the plank is steady, but the foot I place on the wood is not. My hands tremble as I hold out my arms for balance, testing the strength of it with a decent amount of my weight. It bounces slightly as I press down, which is hardly reassuring.
Water crashes in a thunderous roar, violent enough that the plank groans and a cold spray hits my bare legs.
“Fuck my fucking life,” I mutter as I step out onto the plank. I do my best to keep my eyes forward, not daring to look down. I’ve never had a fear of heights, per se, but it’s more the balancing on a wooden plank that I can’t even see the end of that’s making my heart race.
What if it falls out from beneath me? What if someone is waiting on the other side to drop it?
I wobble, inhaling sharply as my stomach flips.
By some miracle, I keep my balance. Exhaling a shaky breath, I force myself to keep moving.
I count my steps like I used to count chips in the paint as a girl.
Back then, I was keeping track of each terrible second in anticipation of Merrill splitting the lock on my bedroom door.
And now, it’s this—a fresh, new kind of hell. But the counting is a welcome distraction. It silences the part of my brain that’s fearful for its life.
I lift one shaky foot at a time, water roaring around me like an army of men on the front line, crashing into the rocks below like it’s the enemy.
I keep counting.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Dread settles in my stomach when I realize I’m nearing where the plank disappears into the fog.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
Consistent with most of my decisions as of late, I rip off the bandage, stepping into the fog with confidence I don’t possess.
It envelops me, sucking me straight into a cloud.
I can still hear the water, but I can’t see anything more than a foot in front of me.
I’m forced to look down; it’s the only way I can see my next step.
Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six—
Wood creaks behind me, and I stop counting.
I can’t turn around; my legs won’t let me. But the hair on the back of my neck standing straight is a sensation I know all too well.
The wood groans again, beneath me this time. I narrow my eyes on my feet—on the edges of the plank—and as soon as I do, the creaking stops.
I stop breathing. I can’t move. And for some reason, I can’t bring myself to look away. The silence swells, water crashes—
A hand shoots out from under the wood.
I scream, jumping forward before whoever it is can latch onto my ankle. In my frantic jolt, I nearly topple off the side and into the unforgiving current.
As soon as I find my balance, I whirl back, hand extended with fire at my fingertips.
But no one is there.
No one underneath the wood and no one on the plank behind me. Just the violent spray of water and more suffocating fog.
My heart is racing too fast to try and steady it now. I just need to get across. I just need this to be over.
I turn, taking my steps a little faster.
Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one.
The plank bows beneath my weight, and I try to focus on literally anything else. Anything but slipping.
Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four.
I brave a check over my shoulder, and when I look forward again, my entire body jolts.
There’s a dark figure standing a few feet in front of me, long black robes billowing out around them. Before I can properly take a breath, they move forward, one well-balanced step after another.
I take more than a few steps back, cursing my lost progress, eyes darting between whoever this is and the plank of wood beneath me.
Their hands appear out of their robes, long knives gripped in each one. Then their hood falls.
Easton.
My first instinct is to spin a quick ward in front of me, which he sees, but keeps walking anyway. As if he knows he can break right through it.
The groaning wood beneath me starts again, and I swear my heart stops beating when another hand shoots out for my ankle.
My foot slips, and my arms swim out around me as I fight to regain my balance, barely catching myself.
It’s the closest I’ve come to falling. Water crashes below me—a wave I would have drowned in.
If the current didn’t tear me apart first.
Heart pounding, I whirl back around, seeing that Easton has made it to my ward. Even though he could, he doesn’t try to break it. He just waits patiently on the other side, his expression stoic.
The wood groans beneath me again. Frustrated more than anything, I fall to a crouch, lying flat on my stomach. I grip both sides of the plank and lean over, coming face to face with—
“Easton?”
He’s…upside down. Crawling across the plank as if gravity doesn’t apply to him.
My head snaps up, noticing the first Easton still waiting on the other side of my poorly spun ward. These are…illusions. They have to be.
Unless Easton has a twin brother who’s part spider monkey.
Slowly getting back to my feet, I try to gather my wits, eyes narrowing on the Easton behind the ward.
Assuming they are illusions, then they can’t touch me…right? Unless one of them is the real Easton…
The plank groans behind me, and I turn, coming face to face with a third Easton. He stalks towards me until I’m surrounded.
Fucking think, Cin.
At least two of these Eastons have to be illusions, which means they won’t be able to hurt me.
So, I just need to figure out which one is real, and I can’t afford to mess up.
If I pick wrong, then I’m in a fight with the real Easton, and I’ll be screwed.
I’m good in training, really good, but Callan doesn’t run exercises on wooden planks perched over a ravine.
My lack of training won’t kill me, but my lack of balance will.
“Alright. Fine,” I huff, turning to get a good look at them. “Process of elimination.”