Chapter 25
The boat is heavier than it looks. The pebbled dirt crunches beneath its hull as I drag it to the edge of the starless-black water, the sound swallowed by the rain.
It must be afternoon, but it looks like evening, the sun still smothered by storm clouds. Raker is sequestered in a room on the opposite side of the ruins. He hasn’t surfaced in the hours since he left me by the hearth.
My time with him is over. That’s clear. He’s given up on me. He’s decided I’m not worth the map or being a fucking mule for the sword he has already claimed in his own mind, and I won’t wait around for him to kill me and take it for good.
In this storm—I have a chance to run. From Raker. From my own shame and guilt.
Because he’s right. I’ve been the cause of so many dangers. I could blame my sword and the notice it brings me, but Raker has a weapon just like mine, yet he hasn’t gotten in a fraction of the trouble I’ve found myself in. I need to be stronger. Better.
Without him.
I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see that hood, to see the glimmer of that mask or glorious blade right before he cuts me down. But there’s nothing but a wall of rain and wind.
I can’t believe he thinks I would just give up my sword. Just leave it on the floor and crawl back to the gates with my tail between my legs.
Fuck him.
The ground finally gives way beneath the boat, and I exhale sharply as it surges into the water.
Carefully, I crawl inside. There are paddles by my legs.
I’ve never done this before—Xara’s boat maneuvered itself—but I understand the basics.
It takes a few tries, a few times the paddles nearly fall right into the dark lake, but I finally figure it out.
Then, with the same strength I’ve attempted to build for wielding my sword, I paddle.
Rain pierces the water all around me in pinpricks.
My boat and paddles cast ripples. I peer into the onyx lake, imagining a creature will come crashing up from the abyss.
A chill slides through my blood, as if I’m locking eyes with something ancient, something my weak mortal vision can’t see, just below the surface. But nothing breaks through.
My arms quickly start to burn, still I don’t slow, lest Raker notice I’m gone and that I didn’t, in fact, leave my sword behind.
If he really wants my blade, at least I have a head start.
And I have the map—an advantage. I know what landscapes await. Which is why I really fucking wish I didn’t have to go through this alone.
Though it’s so easy to hate him, he’s been a steady presence by my side for weeks.
He’s been a hand in the dark places, begrudgingly helping me through them.
An ember of sadness stirs at the thought of never seeing him again.
It’s quickly snuffed out by all those words he said.
He clearly hates me almost as much as I hate him.
He’ll probably be relieved to see me gone.
I paddle and paddle, until that small island and castle become just smudges in the rain. Until the boat roughly washes onto shore. Until my boots crunch against rocks, and I’m climbing a cliff face.
Until I’m through the trees and away from Raker for good.
I guess I’ve found the fucking Storm Woods.
On the map, it looked peculiar. A simple patch of forest with a few added whorls.
In real life, I’m being brutalized by leaves flying in vortexes, roaring winds, rain like hellfire, and branches intent on stabbing me through.
Every step takes enormous effort. I grit my teeth and push against the current, and it’s like pushing against a wall. I feel my energy unspooling.
Shit.
I should find shelter or take my time … but I can’t. Soon Raker will realize I’m gone. And if he really wants this sword, he’ll chase after me.
I’m surprised he didn’t steal it, back in the ruins. Did he think I was too weak to actually make a run for it? Too cowardly?
Did he really think I would just leave it?
It doesn’t matter now. No, what matters is getting the hell away from him.
Sword in hand, I push my way through, eyes alert, looking for any sign of the many beasts that thrive in storms—the ones from the book that are awakened by claps of thunder and energized by spears of lightning. I don’t see any movement beyond the trees being ripped apart by brutal winds.
But I smell it. The metallic, biting taste of magic. I duck behind a trunk still standing. Peer around it, and am struck—
By a smattering of giant leaves. They smother my face, and I gasp in shock, only serving to tighten them around my nose and mouth.
I try to pull, but they fasten to my skin as tightly as a mask.
I can’t breathe. Panic pounds through my blood, and I claw, scratching up my face in the process, before finally peeling them off.
I suck in air, head spinning. They could have suffocated me. It was almost like they tried.
Something is seriously wrong with this forest.
As if in response, thunder rumbles, rattling the woods, rattling my teeth. Fuck. This. I stagger through the tangle of trunks, until they end completely.
I’ve stumbled upon a dirt road through the woods.
The rain is heavier without the cover of treetops, but there’s also less debris for the storm to kick up.
I remember that one ancient road, with the Masks. Are they here? Would they be out in such weather?
I look back at the forest. Then at the path. Time to make a choice.
A lick of fear running down my neck, I take off down the road, desperate to get out of these woods as fast as possible. It’s only when I nearly trip over an errant root that I see the faintest pattern in the dirt. I duck and squint.
They’re hoof marks. Dozens of them, in a line. Some have been washed away by the rain, but others are still perfectly shaped. Fresh, then.
Which means many, many horses were just on this road.
I must have just missed them. Are more coming? I look to either side. Strain to listen. But it’s impossible to hear much beyond the onslaught of weather.
I should go back into the woods … I glance at the trees, at all the brush flying through them, and don’t move a single inch.
Another ground-shaking roll of thunder makes the sky shudder. It’s immediately followed by another roar.
This one comes from right ahead.
My veins turn to ice. There’s a gust of wind hurtling down the road, dredging up all the dirt in its path, stealing peels of bark forming a face spun from roots and leaves and moss and spears of wood as teeth, rushing right at me.
Well, fuck.
I guess the book really didn’t include everything.
Terror clutching my chest, I jump out of the way with only feet to spare, sheath my sword, then cling to a wide trunk. My feet lift off the ground.
And the world splits around me.
I scream as the surrounding trees are ripped away, the wind a bellow that turns into voices telling me to let go, pulling at my heels, pricking my fingers, shaking the trunk back and forth, trying to throw me off of it.
My braid whips my cheeks, branches pelt my body, but I don’t release my grip, using the strength I’ve been training to hold on, until, finally, the wind settles, and my feet hit the ground again.
In a half-mile radius, there’s almost nothing left. My knees buckle. I’m covered in dirt. The rain is falling sideways, the large drops blinding me. My skin is cold as ice.
I have to get out of here.
On unsteady legs, I race through the plundered forest, boots sliding in the mud as I weave around the remaining trees, some just trunks without branches, their limbs ripped clean off.
I veer to the side to avoid a pile of trunks stacked like kindling—and step right into the path of a wind spout like a fallen tornado. Before I can retreat, I’m soaring. I land with a sickening crunch, hoping to all the gods it’s branches snapping beneath me, and not my bones.
There’s no time to assess any injuries. I roll out of the way and run like hell, turning in a different direction, only to be met with another mangled face, formed from the forest itself. Headed right toward me.
Its body is a tunnel of violent wind tearing everything in its path to form scales of wood it wears like a storm serpent. It opens its jagged mouth with an ear-splitting howl.
Shit.
My chest feels like it’s going to explode with panic, but I wait. I wait until it’s just a breath away, then I dive out of its path and roll, hitting rocks and roots, bruising everywhere, before I come to a stop.
I’m soaked to the bone. Cold, and trembling. I think of that fire Raker made. How good it felt to put my feet by it.
Gods, I wish I was back there. I know why I snuck out, but right now … I fucking regret it.
Especially when a startling flash of lightning spears across the sky, and I’m thrust into a memory.
A clear blue day, hunting wildflowers with my sister.
Going way too far outside of town. Laughing.
Chasing each other in circles. My sister in a cornflower-blue dress that she loved.
The one with a wide white ribbon that tied in the back.
That ribbon whipping wildly in the breeze as she ran from me. As she looked over her shoulder.
The storm came from nowhere. That bolt of lightning spiraled right at her. And I remember that fear. Pure, soul-shredding terror.
I—
A gasp rips me back into the present. It is no ordinary gasp. No … it sucks all the air out of the forest, leaving only muted quiet. Just like in the mists.
That smell of magic is all that’s left, searing the inside of my nostrils.
I get to my feet. Look around. I’m alone. The storm serpents are gone. There are only endless sheets of rain in front of me.
Another flash of lightning—
Illuminating a woman.