Chapter Four Kian
Whoever tied my blindfold never played Dupe the Dud with cutthroat cousins who enjoyed your cries of surprised pain as they whacked your shins instead of the ball.
But what can I expect from the Huntress’s holy and chosen few?
Sister Roberta and Brother Thad obviously have little experience in playing dirty.
Unlike me.
One quick, casual rub of an “itchy” ear with my shoulder and I’ve knocked the cloth askew enough to see the ground flash beneath my hems. Swishing, voluminous white silk hems. Because what else would you wear when traipsing through an unknown forest?
But like all the acts of the holies, it was chosen for symbolism, not practicality. White is the color of bone, of magic.
At least the robe has large pockets. Yet accessing the stones I’ve hidden there does me no good if I cannot drop them. I’m currently wedged in the center of the group and dare not risk it.
Each step I take reveals the same expected scene below my feet—a winding path covered in pine needles with the occasional twig, cone, or patch of frozen mud to break up the monotony. After five minutes of trudging, I finally discover an opening.
I trip on a thick root, flinging myself forward and catching my fall on Ulric’s broad back before me.
I try to hit the side—I know how raw our wounds are.
But still, he hisses in pain and shoves me away, out of line.
I pretend to stumble, as if I’m just barely able to right myself before biting it on the forest floor.
“Spinner’s tits!” I cry.
Someone inhales sharply, and I know I’ve disturbed at least one of my fellow novitiates’ rigid sensibilities with my swearing.
I mumble an apology to them and the goddess; then feigning a limp, I drop back.
Finally at the very end of our stupid procession, I reach my hand inside my robe’s large pocket, take one of the two dozen red glass stones, and drop it on the path behind me.
Aunt Ujvala and whoever she brings with her will find it, then the next and the next, following my path to the valley along the careful route that few members of the three orders know.
A wrong turn and they will hit the wards protecting the valley.
What happens then depends on how deeply through the forest they’ve made it.
They could simply be wounded and spend the rest of their lives with disfiguring scars, or they could be killed outright.
We continue our winding journey for another half hour before I realize they’re leading us in circuitous loops. Of course they are further obscuring the path to the valley. Paranoid bastards. But if we loop back on our previous steps, my stones will easily be spotted and I will be discovered.
Brother Thad commands a halt. “What is that?” he mumbles.
Panic rushes through me, and I push forward through the other novitiates. If he’s spotted a stone, maybe I can hide it under my hems or kick it under some half-decayed leaves before he recognizes it for the marker it is.
“Novitiate Kian!” High Priestess Sarai commands. “When you are told to stop, you stop.”
I curse silently. What happens if it is a stone? What do I do if he finds others? I am about to risk moving again to be closer to Jasmyn. Maybe I can drop the rest of the red stones at her feet and hope they blame her.
Just before I move, a sharp, hot wind brushes past, hard enough to rustle our robes. I shiver.
“What was—” I begin, the words masking my footfalls as I take steps toward Jasmyn.
“Hush.”
The unmistakable tremble of fear in Brother Thad’s voice chills me. I have known him to be many things—arrogant, aggressive, libidinous—but I have never heard him afraid.
Then I notice the entire rest of the forest has fallen silent. There are no sounds of animal calls, no owls hooting, no skittering of small creatures through underbrush. Not even the wind dares to shake the pine boughs. It is as if everything has paused on an inhale.
Then a savage roar, louder and more animalistic than anything I’ve ever heard, rips apart the silent sky.
Instantly, I drop to the frosty forest floor and crawl toward the trunk of a large tree, yanking off my blindfold. Above us, I see the sky wink in and out of existence.
The creature shrieks again.
A dragon. Aunt Ujvala said there were two that killed the matcher, but there is only one skull, which means there is a second dragon in this valley. One with a taste for human flesh.
At least I’m not totally out in the open, in the center of a wide path, like the other novitiates.
Markus and Jasmyn have lifted their hands toward their faces, as if to remove their blindfolds, but stand with them hovering above the knots because above everything else—even their own sense of self-preservation—they are a bunch of righteous rule followers.
“Move your asses, idiots!” I hiss, hopefully not drawing the dragon’s attention.
Finally, they begin to move.
Jasmyn and Markus finish ripping off their blindfolds and hide near trees like I have.
Ulric and Svena bumble forward simultaneously.
Without being able to see, they collide and trip, landing with a large thud, one on top of the other.
At least they’re lower now. Illia and Marsi help each other remove their blindfolds, then run around High Priestess Sarai, staying on the path, and moving deeper into the forest.
It’s not a bad strategy, as long as they are moving away from the dragon instead of closer. And stay away from the wards. Though if there is a dragon hunting us, we’re fully in the valley.
Another roar echoes through the night, so loud it makes my ears ring.
High Priestess Sarai, Brother Thad, and Sister Roberta stand their ground like the noble imbeciles they are.
At least Sarai is practical, holding up her lantern so she can see what’s happening beneath the trees’ dark canopy.
Brother Thad holds a decorative dagger, its jewel-encrusted hilt winking in the moonlight as if to say, I am utterly useless in a fight! But so pretty! Just like him.
His other hand is clenched tight, holding something small. A stone?
Fuck. I am fucked.
As I hunch below a tree, trying my best to be small and insignificant, the dragon drops out of the sky between the three order members. It is stunning and terrifying, with a large reptilian body, a long neck, and gigantic leathery wings, all covered in scales.
Jasmyn screams dramatically as Sarai spins to meet the dragon straight on. Her unicorn skull’s horn glints. The dragon roars, spitting fire and lighting up the forest around us. Svena cries out, her robes ablaze. She starts to stand.
“Roll,” I yell. If she bolts, she’ll feed the fire as she runs.
I dart from my relative safety of the tree and half tackle her, pushing her back into the dirt and smothering the flames with our overly full robes.
The impact makes the wounds on my back scream, and she curls onto her side, whimpering.
Her side and back—visible through burned-away silk—are raw, covered by red blisters.
Sister Roberta hurries over to help as I whisper calming nonsense to Svena and watch the rest of the chaos continue to unfold.
The dragon roars again.
I have spent the last fifteen years surrounded by priests wearing the skulls of magical creatures—skulls that they use to wield magic, to build power and wealth and, at times, hurt people in their quest for both.
And before that, I grew up in a family of smugglers who also used their skills to build power and wealth, though they never intentionally hurt anyone for, either.
Which is to say, I have seen some serious shit, but nothing—nothing—is as terrifying as an angry full-grown dragon hunting. It is massive, muscular but nimble in flight as it dodges through the trees. Its scales is a deep-purple color that shines, iridescent in the moonlight.
It lands, lowering its head and opening its mouth slightly.
Its teeth are the size of my fingers. Its tongue flicks the air like a snake, tasting our fear.
It makes a noise of approval deep in its serpentine throat and takes a step forward.
Despite its long back legs and short front legs, it moves much more gracefully on the ground than I would have suspected, which bodes ill for us all.
It lowers its spiked head as if to charge. With a whimper I feel deep in my own bones, Brother Thad turns and runs.
High Priestess Sarai again stands her ground. Making herself as large as possible and swinging the lantern toward the beast’s face, she screams back.
I’m not certain it’s the recommended method for fending off a dragon, but it seems to work, because the creature turns away from her, takes two great steps, and in one fluid motion, bites Brother Thad across the shoulder and chest. Its massive, curved incisors must puncture something vital, because the priest instantly collapses on the path. Dead.
A cold, piercing panic runs through my body. Without a dragon-wearer, all of this is over. Only a dragon’s fire can destroy the creature skulls, and Brother Thad was the last of them. Now he’s dead. His now-useless dragon skull stares up at the silent, uncaring trees.
Sarai cries out. Brother Thad is her second in command and her friend. But the high priestess does not move closer to the dragon and its kill.
The dragon crouches over Brother Thad’s limp body and opens its mouth wide, as if it’ll unhinge its jaw. In horror, I realize we are about to watch a feeding.
Before the grotesquery can begin, new people come running through the underbrush and onto the path.
They carry no lanterns to guide them through the thick forest or traditional weapons, but long, smooth sticks.
Three of the four go immediately to the dragon and surround it.
By their simple, practical dress, their confidence in approaching a dragon about to eat a dead man, and their presence in the valley at all, I assume they are keepers.