Chapter 21
Elina
My legs strain from the burst of energy, my lungs already contracting as I rush off between the trees. I should save some of my strength, but Asbjorn’s feral warning is stuck at the front of my mind, inducing adrenaline into my blood and setting fire to my flight instinct.
Twigs snap beneath my feet, the quiet wind hisses with the speed I move through it, and my breaths intrude upon my senses with loud, frantic pants.
I turn my head. Backward, left, right. No one’s there. Asbjorn and the car are already out of sight. It’s just me, the narrow trail, and the tall trees and big rocks that welcome me in with open arms.
I glance up, though the canopy, at the golden light in the sky. The sight is magnificent—so much that I linger and almost trip on a root.
“Focus,” I mutter to myself, training my sight straight ahead. “Breathe,” I remind myself too. There’s no one here. It’s just the forest and me.
I slow my pace, grateful for the found calm as the trail winds upward.
I consider whether I should go off-trail, into thicker forest where I can better hide.
But having no idea where I’m going, it’s safer to follow the already trodden trail, so I decide to stick to it a while longer to gain some distance before going into hiding mode.
I don’t want to risk getting lost in there.
The deeper I go, the thicker the forest gets, and shadows close in as the treetops steal the light. A twig snaps somewhere that’s not beneath my feet. I whip my head around—from side to side. No one’s there.
A slow panic creeps along the edges of my mind, but I breathe deeply, reminding myself not to give in to the fear. Asbjorn is here somewhere, looking out for me.
Despite the shadows, the forest is kind. I feel at ease here. So when I don’t hear more sounds, I just jog ahead, focusing on the fresh scent of pine and the damp scent of earth.
When I see the first fork in the trail, I consider which way to go. The left one leads me over flat ground but deeper into the thicket of trees, whereas the one sloping right is more open and brighter but leads up a steep mountain trail.
Making a quick decision, I go against the crawling fear of the shadows and decide it’s best to save my energy and follow the flat trail deeper into the forest. Veering onto said path, I decide it’s definitely the best strategy. Up there on the bare trail, I’m exposed; in here, I can hide.
A smile softens my features and lends me a boost of energy that makes me pick up my pace. I can do this, I tell myself, feeling brave and strong.
But the newfound energy wavers when I think I see a shadow moving between the trees. My pulse cranks up, and I whip my head to the side. No one’s there. I pick up my pace.
No one’s there, just breathe, no one’s there, just breathe, I chant inside my head. But then there’s a rustle somewhere in front of me. I pause, a crawling awareness creeping up my spine. I stare into the shadows, eyes wide, heart pounding.
The figure that steps out from between the trees moves quietly. Just a few steps, then pauses, watching me.
My throat constricts, all my muscles coiling, at the sight of a tall man with a bare, muscular torso, jeans, and boots.
His long hair, some of it braided, is gathered in a high, messy bun, and the ancient symbols tattooed into his skin are familiar, but all I see is his face. His terrible, terrifying face.
White, black, and red paint cover his features in a skeleton-like mask.
The black markings around his eyes draw the shadows inward, swallowing his gaze in two black pits.
The red trails smeared in streaks down his forehead and cheeks evoke echoes of blood and violence.
A hunter waiting for its prey. No, not just a hunter.
A demon.
I want to scream, but my throat is shut tight, my muscles locked. He barely even moves, and for a moment, I think it’s just my brain playing a trick on me. I close my eyes, inhale, then open again on a long exhale.
And there he is, just as terrifying as before.
With a strangled cry, I break from the frozen terror, spin on my heel, and run.
My feet pound against the ground. But it’s not just my feet.
He’s giving chase. Two sets of feet beating against the forest floor.
I feel it in the very air—the chase. The air grows fraught with feral intent and fearful desperation.
Instinct and hunger collide as the prey gives all it has to escape the predator.
My heart hammers frantic beats in my throat as I feel him closing in. I don’t look back, but the way the air thickens and moves faster tells me he’s getting close.
“No,” I yelp, scrambling up the steeper trail I avoided before.
His shadow moves in my peripheral vision. I put in more effort, panting hard with the effort of scaling the steep trail. In all my haste, I stumble over a rock. And that’s when I know I’ve lost. His shadow moves in, his presence drawing over me, heavy and oppressive.
“No,” I squeal again, clawing at the earth to straighten. But it’s too late. A huge arm snatches me by the waist. I collide with a massive chest of solid muscle. “No,” I repeat, pushing at thick arms that offer no give.
“Please,” I start begging instead. I want to scream when I get no response, but my throat is snared tight, my mind too frozen to send the signal there.
“Don’t let the fear win,” a deep, raspy voice whispers.
I claw through my mind in search of recognition, but I don’t find any. The fear drives harder, expanding and suffocating. But then I look down at his arm and notice the runes inked into his skin. Recognition.
I draw a sharp breath, and finally, his words register.
Don’t let the fear steer you.
This is not Asbjorn, but he’s saying the same thing. It’s a small reassurance that allows my frantic breaths to slow. But I can’t fend off the creeping panic completely.
“Let me go,” I beg, jerking against his arm that is banded around me, trapping me effectively, pinning my arms at my sides. Unheeding my plea, he starts peeling off my jacket.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, closing my eyes as I writhe, afraid to see his face again.
Still, no answer. He just leisurely frees one arm at a time to pull my jacket off, then discards it on the ground.
“Please,” I repeat, so fucking scared I can’t take it. The only thing keeping me from safewording is the echo of his words—Asbjorn’s words. Don’t let the fear win.
My captor wraps both arms around me and leans his head close to mine. He still doesn’t speak; the only sound is the swooshing of his breath against my ear, penetrating my fearful senses. It’s a calming sound—one that I allow myself to soak up and drift along with.
The fear abates as I follow his deep breaths in and out, in and out.
His tight grip around me is not threatening. It’s stabilizing.
But when he grips my arms, turns me to face him, and my eyes collide with the pits of his darkened gaze, the fear slams back in.
Widening his eyes with frightening intent, he leans close. “Run,” he sneers.
Gasping, I stumble back. Eyes locked onto his paint-distorted face, it takes me a moment for the impulse to kick in. Finally, I scramble around and rush, half-crawl up the steep trail.
On top of the hill, I throw a glance back. He’s gone. Like a shadow in the night. Did I imagine it?
The trembling rush of fear clouds my brain, the strange light of the dusky forest casting a surreal glow over my memories; I’m not sure any of it is real. I pause, just looking around. I’m all alone. There’s not a creak, not a rustle. Just the slight breeze and a bird singing the forest to sleep.
But the white, black, and red imprint of his face remains stuck at the forefront of my mind, spurring me to keep going.
Up and up. The new trail he forced me onto is unforgiving.
Rocks and twigs and a steep climb. I put all my attention to the task of navigating through the darkened forest, not wanting to fall and hurt myself.
When the trail reaches a new plateau, I pause and look around.
Again, I’m met with choices. Going up, left, or right.
Like before, the trail ahead leads into more steep territory, while the other two lead into the forest. The one to my right has a clear trail between a light scattering of trees.
The forest is brighter in there, the setting sun casting its glow into a clearing ahead.
The golden light draws me in. I start walking toward it.
A sign, a welcoming relief from the shadows.
But just as I’m about to step into the clearing, a figure emerges from the trees ahead.
Like the last man, his face is covered in demonic paint; unlike the last man, he’s running. Straight toward me.
With a yelp, I set off in the opposite direction. My blood rushes, my legs strain. I’m about to cross the fork and set down the other flat trail when another man steps out of the shadows and gives chase.
“No!” Panic draws in, narrowing my mind.
Once again, I scramble up the steep hill, onto unsteady terrain.
It’s not until I’ve reached another plateau that I can draw an effective breath and realize the demons haven’t given chase.
Once again, it’s just me, the forest, and my pounding pulse that reminds me of the terrifying figures that were after me.
When I reach a fork again, I’ve learned my lesson. Instead of taking the easy path, I continue up the mountain.
The following trek is long. I just go up and up and up, the trail winding and bulging with big rocks I have to climb.
Sweat beads on my brow, and my mouth begs for hydration.
But despite the fear still trembling in my bones, my legs keep me steady.
I quietly thank Asbjorn for all the times he took me hiking in similar terrain.
I wonder if he was preparing me for this.