Chapter 21
Cold spears my bones and settles in my marrow. More unnerving than that is the soul-withering silence.
The rain falls soundlessly against the ground.
My skin prickles with panic. I can’t hear anything—even the warriors beyond the tree line. I can’t see them either.
I unsheathe my sword as quickly as I did with Raker, ready for the possibility that they will run in after me. That perhaps the tales of the mist were exaggerated.
But there isn’t a single movement. Even those immortal knights, armored, deadly, and likely centuries old, fear this place.
My sweaty hands tighten around the hilt, in case I’m wrong.
I keep my blade lifted high even through the lingering effects of the sleeping elixir, a testament to my recent practice.
I’ve stayed in this same position for hours. I can stay in it for minutes.
I do. I count the seconds until ten minutes have passed, the quiet of the mist so unsettling, the thought of facing the warriors again seems almost like a preferable option.
Hopefully, they’re back in town. Or Raker’s close enough that I can catch up to him.
I take a steadying breath, then bolt back in the direction I came—
But I don’t see the warriors. I don’t see the village.
All I see is endless mist, as though I have fallen into an ever-changing labyrinth.
Fuck.
Dread trips down my spine as the immortal’s words cycle through my head. Entire armies sent inside, never to be seen again. Ancient creatures that would grind my bones to dust with their teeth.
No. I can’t stay here. Raker will be looking for me. Or, more likely, he will be leaving me behind. How long will he wait? Minutes? Did he even hear my cries in the streets?
Would he care if he did?
I run, right toward the village. It has to be there. There must be an end to this fog. I’ve barely taken a few steps. I am not lost.
I repeat the words even as the mist thickens. Even as the ground changes. Even as it becomes clear that this place is as deadly as the immortal said it was.
I open my mouth to scream—but even my voice is muted. It’s hardly a whisper in the wind. I yell and yell, my neck straining, until my throat burns. The sounds I make are swallowed, as if I’m sitting at the bottom of a well.
No. This can’t be happening.
Sword back in my scabbard, I start sprinting. In the direction I came, or the opposite, I’m not sure. Everything looks the same. Everything keeps repeating. My eyes burn. Terror clenches my chest.
My muscles begin to slacken.
That damned elixir. I can feel its magic slinking back through me, as if to smother my racing pulse. As if to lull me back to sleep.
No. If ever there was a place to fear sleep, it’s this one.
I dredge up more strength, pushing my legs, my arms, to just go faster.
To just find the edge of this mist. I think I see a parting in the trees, just as my foot catches beneath a root and the world goes sideways.
My jaw hits the ground, and pain blinds me.
My teeth crash together. My skull rings.
As I grip the ground with trembling hands and my fingers find another root, I realize that the Bone Woods are, in fact, exactly what they sound like.
The trees are all crafted from bone—twisted, ancient, and fused together perfectly, as if someone took great care in shaping them. I reach toward one of the trunks, my finger running down long, sharp scratches several inches deep.
What has claws like this?
I don’t want to fucking find out. Even though it feels like the mist is a heavy cloak over my shoulders, I get up and keep running. And the fog … it almost whispers against my skin. It almost stings, as if not sure whether to bite or caress.
I feel a thousand eyes on me, but everywhere I look there is nothing but endless mist and trees. I turn to run in the opposite direction, but it’s all the same.
I stop. I turn again.
A crunch sounds behind me.
I pivot, unsheathing my blade in a flash. The metal’s sparkle is dimmed. The pulse I feel from it has weakened. Everything is diminished.
There’s nothing behind me, but I feel it. A prick against my neck. A breath against my ear. A metallic taste in my mouth as if all this side’s glimmer has been concentrated into a copper paste. All at once, a sharp pain cleaves my mind in half.
And a silvery voice says, Sleep.
It’s beautiful, like a wind chime. I turn—and only find the mist. It’s moving now, curling around my ankles.
You know you want to.
My fingers tremble against the hilt of my blade. I walk backward, stumbling on another root.
A chuckle echoes through the forest, echoing in my mind.
Close your eyes. You don’t want to see what comes next, the voice says.
The trees begin to shake as if something otherworldly is walking through them. Then they part completely, like a giant blade has cleaved the forest in half.
I stand very still, sword still up. If this is my fate, I will confront it head on.
Foolish child, the voice says.
Power spirals from the center of the trees in a flash of curling gray, hitting me right in the chest.
Sleep, it commands.
My head hits the mangled bone root, and I obey.
My skin is stinging. The back of my head hurts. I feel something faintly warm behind it, and I know at once it’s my own blood. The warmest thing in this cold place.
This cold place.
I open my eyes and am met by a face made up solely of bone and teeth. I flinch, scuttling back, sword in my hand, until my spine hits a tree.
The man simply straightens. And in my soul, I know this is one of the creatures the immortal spoke of.
An ancient presence. If I didn’t know it from the fangs curling out of his jagged mouth, I would know it from the fear in my chest, an orb of fracturing ice, as if some primal part of me knows to run.
Looking at him, I know running would be useless.
He is nearly as tall as the trees. His fingers, reaching toward me, are made of curved blades, in a sparkling metal I’ve never seen before.
They clash together in a pitch that makes my head scream.
His mouth is lipless, opening slightly, to reveal several rows of fangs.
His eyes are just guttered holes, with dancing silver flecks, like punched-out pockets of night.
He wears the mist as a cape, without a hood, so I can see his entire smooth skull.
When he speaks, it is directly into my mind, the voice cutting through it like a knife.
Curious little creature stumbles into the mist …
My scream is a whisper as I fold forward, gasping with pain. Every syllable scrapes through my head.
With trembling arms, I manage to lift my sword again.
That only makes the creature smile, a fang-filled expression that sends fear spiking through my blood. He could rip out my throat with those teeth. Instead, he rips into my mind again.
What a pretty sword. Just like the one I hide.
I gasp from the pain. He steps closer, his foot peeking through the mist. It is just gnarled, twisted bone.
Have you come to steal from me?
“No,” I breathe, the word hardly making any sound at all as I try to steady my mind, try to think my way out of this. Try to remember what the immortal said about these creatures.
The book said ancient beings make barters. If only I had anything to trade. Anything of value other than this sword, which I cannot part with.
My weapon is powerful. I struggle to stand as I lift it higher, to maybe have a fighting chance—
The being starts to laugh. The sound claws through my brain, scratching the inside of my skull, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my lips parting with another soundless scream.
That blade would break against my bone. I am older than the dawn of this world—alive before it even had a name. He stops himself, and I gasp for breath. Or … perhaps it wouldn’t. Are you willing to take that risk?
He’s in my head. It’s not just his voice. I can feel him strumming through my thoughts with those metallic fingers, like he’s flipping through pages of a book. I can sense how easily he could shred my mind to pieces with blade-like precision, without even needing to try.
How much can he see? How much does he already know? How much did he look while I was asleep?
“Get out of my head,” I rasp. No use in considering ways to kill him. Not when he’s hearing every one of my thoughts.
You’re the one who entered my mists, girl. Did you not know what you would find?
I wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been my only option. Though now I consider that I would far rather have faced the three immortal warriors than this being.
He circles me. His smile grows even larger, the bone fissuring.
Are you afraid? Disgusted?
I lift my chin, even as something deep and old in my brain is telling me to kneel and beg for mercy. “No.”
He laughs again, and I double over, shoulder pressed to my ear in a fruitless attempt to block out the noise, but it’s impossible. It’s coming from inside my head. There’s no outrunning it.
I can feel your emotions, girl. I can steal them, like sucking marrow from bone. I can drain you until you are just a husk, more bones to add to my forest. More blood to feed my soil. I’ve spent centuries tending to my domain. These are my woods, and I am its Gardener.
My brain swirls. I gasp. It’s like he’s turning my mind inside out like a pack, shaking out its contents.
Interesting. Your shade of fear … is perplexing. You are afraid … but not for yourself. Not really. You’re afraid for your journey. How curious …
He pauses. A new constellation of silver flecks flicker in those dark eyes before guttering out.
Such sorrow. I have only felt such bottomless despair once before. Just now, actually …
His vise on my mind tightens, and I nearly pass out from the pressure. My eyes feel like they’re going to burst. I can feel him sinking his claws into me, prying me open like a stubborn clam …
Until all at once, he’s ripped out of my head, and I fall forward, onto my palms. My heart beats wildly. I’m panting, gasping for air.