Chapter 10 Odessa
Ten
Odessa
Brother Skore added another branch to our campfire, sending orange sparks into the night. They vanished beneath the bright glow of the twin moons.
He sat cross-legged on the other side of the flames, his robes spread out around and beneath him. He placed his wrists on his knees and opened his palms to the starry sky as he closed his eyes.
Was that how the Voster slept?
Tonight was the first time he’d stayed close after dark, and though the sting of his magic made it impossible for me to sleep, I was grateful for his protection.
Evie was asleep, draped over my side, while Faze had claimed the other.
After the bariwolf attack today, the ride to our camping site had been a blur. It had taken hours for my hands to stop trembling and for Evie to stop shaking. When the fright finally started to fade, a bone-deep exhaustion had taken its place.
When Brother Skore stopped riding, informing us we’d camp here for the night, I’d practically slid off Freya’s back.
Shades, I was tired. Sore. Cranky. Scared.
Was it my fault the monsters had hunted us? Were they drawn to us in the forest because of whatever was wrong with me, the thing that made my eyes gold and allowed me to feel Voster magic?
If I asked Brother Skore, he might give me an honest answer for a change. An answer I wasn’t quite ready to hear.
Now what? As much as I wanted to escape Skore, his display of magic today was something I couldn’t ignore. If he could leech the blood from those monsters, what was stopping him from doing that to Freya? To Faze?
To Evie?
Just the thought made my stomach roil. So much for making an escape. But I couldn’t risk them. And if not for Skore, we’d all be bariwolf food.
I closed my eyes, tracing the scar on my palm.
Where was Ransom tonight? Was he on his way to Quentis? Had he already reached the coast and hired a ship to sail the Krisenth? Gods, I only hoped that he wasn’t hurt, trapped in the infirmary in Ellder and fighting for his life.
The not knowing was beginning to fester like a putrid wound, growing and sucking away hope with every passing day.
He’s alive.
Every time I began to doubt he was alive, I’d say it over and over again in my mind.
He’s alive.
“By the grace…” Brother Skore’s murmur made me open my eyes. His words were so low I couldn’t make out the rest of his prayer. His lips and tapered chin moved, but otherwise, his body was entirely motionless. His chest didn’t even seem to rise and fall as he breathed.
It felt like an intrusion, watching as he prayed, so I stared into the fire as a yawn tugged at my mouth.
“You should sleep.” Skore’s dark-green eyes were waiting when I glanced up.
“Who do you pray to?”
“The Divine.”
“Oda?” There were some who considered the Father the greatest of all the gods, though I preferred to speak to Ama, the Mother.
“No. The Divine.”
“Is that a god?”
“There is only one god, girl.”
A chill raked down my spine, and I fought the urge to sign the Eight.
Was this god of his the deity who’d granted him such extraordinary powers? That allowed him to manipulate wind and water and blood? To suck the life out of a monster by his own sheer will?
Another shiver trickled over my shoulders, and I pulled Faze closer for his warmth.
“There is a story in that journal written in the old language about a woman and a snake. It’s told exactly how it happened today. How is it possible that I read a story before witnessing it with my own eyes?”
Skore held up a finger, twirling it in a small spiral. The smoke from the fire mimicked the motion, swirling above.
“Magic?” I guessed.
“No. By the grace of the Divine.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I sighed, too tired to be angry or annoyed. “You and Brother Dime share the same talent for answering questions without actually giving answers.”
He sent a puff of smoke into my face.
I batted it away and glared across the fire. “Where are we going?”
“Orson Canyon,” he said.
It felt precious, asking a question and getting an answer. Like a gift.
Too bad I didn’t have a godsdamn clue where Orson Canyon was.
It took four days to reach Orson Canyon.
The endless hours of riding through the forest meant those four days blended together with nothing to set them apart, and I was so tired of staring at trees, I could scream.
The rocky canyon would have been a welcome change of scenery except for the fact that it was creepy as hell.
We rode through a narrow channel bordered by sheer rock walls that towered above us. It was as if Oda had struck the earth with all his might, cleaving it in two. There were stretches of the gorge where we had to ride single file and the tips of my boots skimmed along the cliffs.
The light was dim but not dark. Was the Evon Ravine like this? I’d never traveled to the gulch that separated Quentis from Genesis, but it was said to be terrifying and as black as death at the bottom.
Brother Skore rode ahead of us, his body swaying with the movement of his horse.
In such a tight space, his magic should have been punishing. I should have been able to feel it zinging off these rock walls.
But from the moment we entered the canyon, the stinging had stopped. It should have been refreshing, except I couldn’t stop worrying about why I couldn’t feel his magic. Was he channeling it somehow? Stockpiling it up to use later?
Could the Voster even do that?
I nudged Freya to get closer, hoping it would encourage Skore to pick up the pace. But he seemed entirely unbothered by the fact that we were trapped.
We could be attacked by monsters and have nowhere to run. Though I guess he wouldn’t be afraid, not when he could suck the blood from every living creature in his presence, myself included.
“I don’t like this place,” Evie said, struggling to sit still.
“I don’t, either.” I shivered, gritting my teeth against the sensation that the walls were closing in on us. “How much longer?”
Skore ignored me.
“Are you sure you’re going the right way?” Shouldn’t we be leaving the mountains for the Ozarth plains that would take us south to the Harrow River?
I glanced over my shoulder as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
There was no one and nothing behind us. Above was only gray rock. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
“Brother Skore, where are we going?”
The sting of his magic hit me at the same time as a gust of wind.
I grimaced, rubbing at my arms. “You could have just answered my question.”
“I did.” His voice echoed off the walls.
Bastard.
Evie stuck out her tongue at his back.
Desperate for a distraction, I pulled the journal out of a saddlebag, flipping it open to an entry I hadn’t read yet.
After the incident with the gray-haired woman, I’d been more reluctant to plow through the journal, almost afraid of what I might learn.
But I forced myself to read at least one story every day, only sharing them with Evie once I’d deemed them safe.
…
Aman with three raw gashes on his face skins a beast hanging from an iron hook. The animal’s hide is a shade of lime green, almost as bright as the sun in some places. The scutes fit together in raised, hard squares.
Blood drips from the beast’s severed neck.
Its head has been separated from its body, lying on the ground.
Its open maw is full of jagged white teeth.
The creature’s long tail is draped over the hook and falls the length of its body.
Even then, it’s still long enough to curl in a circle on the ground.
Its four legs are short, its feet tipped in gray claws.
Three claws, like the three cuts on the man’s face.
The knife the man uses to flay the creature is sharp, but the hide is so thick and hard, he has to constantly stop and sharpen the blade. He starts at the tail and makes his way to the head. He slices and cuts, taking to the carcass the way the creature took to his face. Without mercy.
Only when the skin is hung on a line, the blood washed away, and the leather left to dry does the man finally set down his knife.
The hide becomes fabric. The man sews an overcoat and cobbles a pair of boots. He creates a mask to cover his scars and conceal the empty socket of his lost eye. And the next time he encounters a lime-green beast, it does not attack. For in his disguise, the creatures cannot see the path he walks.
…
An alligask. That must be the monster described in this entry. I closed the book, deciding to keep this story to myself.
Evie sighed and squirmed. “How much longer?”
I opened my mouth to wager a guess, but Brother Skore beat me to it.
“We’re nearly there. Listen,” he said.
A faint rush of noise tunneled down the canyon’s base. The sound was like wind rustling through leaves, except there were no trees.
“What is that?” Evie asked.
“Water.” Waves but without a pulse. The steady flow was either a roaring river or a waterfall.
The trail’s incline steepened, shifting me back in the saddle. The rock walls became shorter as we climbed, opening up to the sky above and letting in more light. And with every step, the sound of the water grew louder until it was so fierce that Evie cupped her hands over her ears.
I held my breath as we reached the mouth of the canyon, passing between the rock columns onto a platform.
Across a hole so deep I couldn’t see the bottom was a waterfall that towered to the sky. The water fell from another sheer cliff on the opposite side of the hole. It formed a curtain of white that vanished into an abyss.
Freya shied away from the edge, following my tug on her reins.
The air was damp, the spray cool on my face. It smelled of wet stone and moss.
The noise wasn’t as loud now that we were out of the canyon, but as Brother Skore’s mouth moved, I couldn’t make out his words.
He continued on, riding a narrow path on the outer rim of the hole, seemingly unbothered by the fact that a single misstep would have us falling to our deaths.