21. The Hunted #2
"A forge,” I said. Excitement built despite our circumstances. "We need to get back there."
"But wards need salt," Marx pointed out.
"I spotted white mineral deposits earlier," Kyren offered. "Could be salt, at least partially. We could grind some down."
Hope flared again. "You could find it?"
"It wasn't far off the path. Near the river."
"The ingredients won't be pure," Marx warned.
"They'll be enough." They had to be.
Hope flickered in Kyren's eyes. "You know how to forge wards?"
"I know the theory. And theory's all we've got."
We gathered ourselves, checking weapons and supplies. My antlers caught another root as I stood, sending fresh agony through my skull. I gritted my teeth and pushed through.
"We head for the forge," I decided. "Gather ingredients along the way."
We emerged carefully, scanning for hunting creatures. The forest felt different now. It was beyond quiet. Malevolent.
"This way," Thatcher pointed.
We moved single file, Kyren's illusions blurring our outlines and muffling footsteps. Not perfect—I still saw him when I looked directly—but maybe enough to hide from aerial searches.
The forest shifted around us, paths appearing and vanishing like mirages. More than once we found ourselves back where we'd started, forced to try new routes.
"The trial fights us," Marx said grimly. "The woods want us dead. "
My hands worked automatically, collecting hylock moss and ernbrisk sap as we passed. Kyren's illusions concealed our foraging, but every snapping twig froze us in place.
We'd covered a few miles from where we'd hidden when Kyren suddenly stopped, nostrils flaring.
"Smoke."
I caught it too—acrid coal and heated metal. We followed the scent until the building appeared between two giant trees.
But what rose in the distance stole my breath.
A pillar of golden light shot skyward from beyond the treeline, bright as a beacon against darkening heavens. It rose from the east, far past where the river must have run—at least half an hour's hard run through the forest, maybe more. The complete opposite direction from where we stood.
"That's where we go," I breathed. "That has to be it."
"How do you know?" Marx asked.
"What else could it be?" Hope crept into Thatcher's voice, though it seemed presumptuous. The light rose impossibly far away. On the opposite side of the wood.
"Inside first," I decided. "Make the wards, then run for that light."
But as we approached, a sound froze my blood.
A low, rumbling growl. Close. Too close.
I spun, searching the shadows. There—red eyes watching from the undergrowth. Then another pair. Another.
Moon-hares had found us. But these weren't the harmless creatures we'd hunted. They were wolf-sized now, their silver fur matted with blood, unnatural intelligence burning in their eyes. And more were emerging with each heartbeat.
"Inside. Now."
We rushed the locked door. Thatcher threw his shoulder against it with desperate strength. Iron hinges groaned, held, then gave way with a crash that sent us tumbling inside .
I slammed the door as the first hare struck. Claws raked wood while the pack circled, seeking another entrance.
Safe. For now.
The forge exceeded my hopes—a proper alchemical setup with crucibles and distillation equipment, grinding tools and measuring scales. Someone had worked here recently. The fire still blazed hot, tools warm to the touch.
I glanced up, noting a ripple in the air. A viewing portal.
"Kyren, grind the salt," I commanded, already moving. "Marx, help sort moss and sap. Thatcher?—"
"I know." He headed for the tool bench. "I'll file the iron."
"How long?" Kyren's voice stretched tight.
"Not long," I lied. I'd only made one ward before, under perfect conditions. This was desperate improvisation.
But Xül's lessons burned in my memory. Proportions. Process. How magical energy flowed through prepared materials. My hands moved with growing confidence as muscle memory took over.
Four parts iron to one part salt. Ernbrisk sap. Hylock moss.
Heat.
The mixture glowed as fire built beneath. Deep green to neon yellow.
"It's working," Marx breathed over my shoulder.
The crucible's contents looked different from my creation with Xül—rougher, less refined, but right. Gods. We might actually survive.
Now for the binding agent.
Marx stepped forward without hesitation, drawing her blade across her palm. Blood welled bright and warm, dripping into the small vial.
The moment her blood touched the cooling mixture, light erupted—brilliant blue that painted the forge in sapphire.
But as Thatcher stepped forward, panic lanced through our bond. From me. Realization hit like a physical blow. I looked up at the viewing portal above .
The Aesymar are watching.
I caught Thatcher's wrist hard enough to bruise. We can't. Our blood will betray us. They'll know.
I jerked my chin upward, gesturing at the reality ripples overhead.
His eyes widened.
But we'd come too far to stop. Every divine eye watched, expecting us to bind these wards.
Think, Thais. Think.
"Marx," I whispered, pulling her aside, out of the portal's view. "I need your blood for mine."
She stared like I'd lost my mind. "The talisman won't bond to you."
"I know." My voice barely carried. "But trust me. I can't explain now."
She studied my face for a long moment, filing questions away for later. Finally, she nodded.
"We stick together," she whispered. "If the wards won't bond to you, we cover you with ours."
"Thank you."
She drew her blade again, filling an empty vial. I took the knife and returned to the cooling wards, using my body to hide the deception as I passed the vial to Thatcher. Both wards flared with brilliant blue before settling into protective radiance.
Kyren added his blood to the final ward, and then we all carried talismans pulsing with sapphire light.
"It’s night," Thatcher observed at the window.
Darkness had swallowed the last traces of daylight, painting the world in shadow and dread. And with it came new sounds—things that made the hares seem tame.
A roar pummeled through the wood, deep and primal and wrong . Another answered, then another, until the forest rang with nightmare voices .
"The light," Kyren pressed his face to the window. "It's still there."
The golden beacon pierced the sky, steady and bright.
Everyone looked to me for the next move, the next decision, the path forward.
As they always did. As Thatcher always had.
The responsibility of their lives pressed against my chest until breathing became an act of will.
In that moment, I longed for someone else to step forward, to take this burden from my hands.
To exist in a space where every choice, every consequence, didn't rest solely on my judgment.
But no one did. No one ever did. And so I straightened my spine and pointed toward the beacon, burying the exhaustion beneath determination as I'd done my entire life.
"We go now," I decided. "Together."
I threw open the door and we burst into chaos.
The forest exploded around us. Creatures poured from shadows. Too many legs and flame-bright eyes. Writhing masses that reached with grasping fingers. Flying beasts shrieked as they dove.
We ran for the light. East, always east, using the beacon as our only guide. The terrain dropped as we left the foothills behind, plunging back into the dense lowland forest. Ten minutes of hard running. Twenty. My legs burned, and still the beacon seemed impossibly distant.
The wards seemed to work—creatures fell back from the blue radiance.
But they didn't stop hunting.
They kept trying to circle us. More converged on our position with every heartbeat.
"They're not after you." Horror dawned on me. "They're after us."
"Our wards aren’t covering you," Marx said desperately. "Fuck."
The creatures grew bolder, pressing closer.
"We have to split up," Thatcher's resignation echoed through our bond.
"No," Kyren protested. "We stick together. "
A massive beast burst from the undergrowth—bear-like but wrong, its fur made of thorns. It swiped at Marx, but its claws stopped inches from her skin, repelled by ward-light.
Then it turned its burning eyes toward me.
"Go," I grabbed Thatcher's hand. "Run for the light. Don't look back."
"Thais—" Marx started.
"GO!"
We veered from their path. Behind us, Marx and Kyren crashed toward the beacon. The pack followed us instead.
"This way," Thatcher gasped, pulling me deeper into darkness.
Branches whipped across my face, drawing blood. Behind us, something massive burst through the underbrush—close enough I felt its hot breath on my neck. I ducked as claws whistled through the air where my head had been, taking a chunk of bark from a tree instead.
The ground dropped suddenly. We half-fell, half-slid down a steep embankment, rocks tearing at our clothes. The creature leaped after us, its bulk slamming into the earth inches from Thatcher's legs.
We scrambled up, sprinting through a maze of roots. My antlers tangled in low-hanging vines. I ripped free, leaving strands of hair behind. The pack split, trying to flank us. Glowing eyes appeared on our left—I yanked Thatcher right just as jaws snapped shut on empty air.
A fallen tree blocked our path. We vaulted over, but my landing went wrong. My ankle caught on a jagged piece of metal and twisted violently. The rusted edge sliced deep through my leather pants and into the meat of my calf.
Pain exploded up my leg. I stumbled, nearly going down, but Thatcher's hand on my elbow kept me upright.
"You're hurt?—"
"Keep moving!"
Blood soaked into my boot with each desperate stride, the wet squelch growing louder.
Something with too many legs dropped from the canopy—Thatcher shoved me sideways as its stinger stabbed the ground where I'd been.
The sudden movement sent white-hot agony through my calf, and I tasted copper as I bit through my lip to keep from screaming.
The creature shrieked, yanking its barb free for another strike.
We burst through thorns that tore through our clothes. My left leg had gone numb below the knee, each footfall throwing off my balance.
Stone rose before us, cutting off escape. We spun, seeking another route, but the creatures had already surrounded us. The world tilted sickeningly as I turned too fast. Only Thatcher's grip on my arm kept me upright.
"Thais?" His voice sounded distant, muffled, like he was speaking through water.
Circling. Closing in. Why were there two of each creature? No—my vision was doubling, sliding in and out of focus.
My good leg buckled first, muscles simply refusing to hold my weight anymore. I dropped to one knee, hand pressed against my calf. Wetness spread beneath my palm—blood, so much blood. The edges of my vision went gray, then black, creeping inward like closing curtains.
"Can't—" The word came out slurred. My tongue felt thick and clumsy. Cold spread from my extremities inward, the kind of bone-deep chill that came with shock.
The largest beast stepped forward—the thorn-bear, its form rippling with tiny daggers. It opened a mouth full of razor teeth, and I knew we'd reached the end.
"I'm sorry, Thatcher." My voice cracked.
"Me too." We held each other as death approached.
The beast pressed its nose against my hair, nudging my antler as its face traveled down, coating my shirt with hot breath and mucus. My head lolled back, too heavy to hold up anymore.
Then it reached my hip .
A growl rumbled from its throat—or was that the rushing sound in my ears? Everything sounded like ocean waves now.
The creature's burning eyes widened. It stepped back, nostrils flaring. A confused whine escaped its throat.
Another beast approached—some writhing thing of vine and thorn. But it too stopped short, retreating as if burned. Their forms blurred into smears of color and shadow.
One by one, the creatures backed away.
"What—" Thatcher's voice, sharp with panic. His face swam above me—when had I fallen? "Thais! Your leg—gods, there's so much?—"
But his words faded into static as the gray closed in.