Chapter Fourteen #2
My stomach twists. Of course, the Hollow would decide our fate—lately, everything else has. The thought of it holding our future like a clenched fist makes a shudder crawl up my spine.
River leans toward me, whispering out the side of his mouth. “Ever notice how people who say things like that never mean it as encouragement?”
“Do you ever shut up?!” Ryder snaps, though I can hear the tension under his irritation. River just rolls his eyes.
Typical. My lecture goes unnoticed.
But I’m already stepping forward. My body moves before my mind can catch up, pulled toward the drawbridge like something is dragging me by the ribcage. Halfway up, I realise the others haven’t moved yet, their eyes are fixed on something in the forest behind.
Ryder’s fingers hover about the hilt of his sword, and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.
“Uh, guys… You coming?” I ask, but stillness follows. Their eyes stay fixed on the tree line unblinking.
A slow darkness is rolling in between the trees—thick, heavy and wrong—infecting the woods like a disease. Even from here, the air shifts; something is terribly, unmistakably off.
“Was the forest always that dark?” River whispers, a slight tremor overtaking his lips.
“No,” Nala breathes, shaking her head. “Something’s wrong.” Her hands fumble at her bag, eyebrows pinching together.
Ryder takes a few cautious steps towards the treeline, and Nala follows his gaze, then slowly pulls the mason jar, which she and River emptied the slug into, from her bag.
“Guys…” She says, voice tight.
Inside the jar, the black slime convulses violently, hurling itself against the glass, as if desperate to claw out and flee into the trees.
Ryder’s expression hardens; his eyes narrow to slits as he unsheathes his sword in one swift motion.
“Everyone on the boat!” He orders, as if he were the commander and we his army.
My eyes dart between Nala’s trembling hand, the jar vibrating in her grip, Ryder’s white-knuckled hold on his sword, and the treeline where the darkness grows thicker, denser, hungrier.
There is an electric hum in the air—not from the sea or the eels—but an almost tangible warning that something is coming.
“Go Asha!” Ryder snaps, breaking the trance the creeping dark had wrapped around me.
My breath stutters. I spin and run up the drawbridge, Nala and River pounding close behind.
Our heart beats control our feet, pushing us in a frantic, shared rhythm. If we can just get on this boat— if we can just get away—maybe we’ll survive this thing.
My stomach tumbles with each step. I can’t stop looking back.
The darkness is gaining.
Ryder ascends the drawbridge backwards, sword drawn, glaring into the distance as the shadows tear apart the trees. The light catches his blade, making it seem ablaze, the power rippling off its silver, alive and dangerous.
I run harder, lungs burning, thighs screaming, eyes fixed on Ryder’s silhouette—so fixed I dont even realise I’ve reached the top until I collide with fabric and muscle.
“Payment.”
The ferryman lifts a cloaked hand; slow, deliberate.
Panic splutters through me. I scramble through my pockets… I have nothing. No silver. No coins. Not even scraps.
“I-I dont have any money,” I choke out, heart thrashing against my ribs.
“Please, you have to let us on—something is coming.” Nala pleads, her eyes flicking from the tree line to the ferryman.
“Payment.” He repeats, voice creaking like dried branches. Not a tremble claims his lips as he glances at the shadows gaining. His throat sounds dry enough to crumble.
Ryder staggers to the front, impatience and fear twisting together across his face. “Fine. What’s the toll? Silver? Food? My last shred of sanity? Just tell me before that thing kills us all.”
The ferryman’s eyes are a dull, foggy silver; they settle on me and linger too long.
“Not coin. Not goods.”
He pauses, and the cold around us seems to thicken.
“A Memory Slip.”
My breath catches like a hook pulling in my chest. A Deceiver, of all things. We may as well take our chances with that creature.
“A memory?” I ask, and the word tastes heavier than it should.
He nods once. “Something you value. A piece of your truth.”
Instantly, my mind flickers through the memories I’ve tried to bury: Ryder’s hands around my neck, The General’s prophecy, the mountain collapsing.
Perhaps losing one would ease the weight, but which one could I afford to lose?
Ryder steps in front of me before I can decide, jaw locking. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Ryder, it’s fine,” I argue, but the darkness has spread like wildfire, swallowing the sand and trunk alike.
In the distance, claws of shadow unfurl around each tree, spidering in our direction.
Then the creature emerges—sludge made flesh.
Oozing. Dripping. It scrapes through the woods with unnatural grace, crashing through the branches as if bones mean nothing to it.
It snarls running on all fours like a twisted wolf, the grime dragging behind it like a leash made of rot, though it does not hold it back, nor does it look obedient.
“No,” Ryder snaps, dropping my hand. “You’ve already given up enough.”
The ferryman tilts his head towards me, his movements jerky and mechanical, like a puppet controlled by invisible strings, before dragging his hollow gaze to Ryder.
“Then perhaps you would offer instead?”
Ryder freezes, his gaze flicks back to the beach. Then, with a resigned inhale, he steps forward.
The air stills. Even the charged sea seems to quiet, listening.
“Fine,” he says quietly, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Take something from me, but be quick.”
“No.” I grab his arm, fingers digging harder than I intend. “Ryder—wait—”
But he’s not listening. He’s locked in, staring the ferryman down like he can win a staring contest with death itself.
“Pick one. Just not—” His voice cracks. He swallows the rest.
Cold floods my veins.
Not what?
Not who?
The ferryman raises a cool, leathery hand to Ryder’s forehead.
He flinches, eyes squeezing shut, and shadows coil around their heads—thin tendrils twisting, tasting, sifting.
The air hums, commanding the hairs on our bodies to rise.
There’s that warning again. The Enchantra symbols underfoot flicker violently, and something inside me screams to pull him away—
And then it’s over.
The ferryman steps back, satisfied and moves aside.
Nala and River sprint on the boat first. I hesitate only long enough to catch Ryder as he staggers, gripping the edge of the railing to stay upright. He inhales sharply, like the world suddenly weighs twice as much.
He still won’t look at me.
I grab his arm and pull him through the swinging doors. The instant our feet hit the deck, the drawbridge evaporates into thin air.
We stand there, panting.
Nala stares out at the shore.
The creature made of sludge and grime darts over the pebbles and crouches at the water’s edge, smoke as black as night orbiting it like a dying star. It watches us ominously, before sinking into the ground as though it were quicksand.
“It’s gone,” Nala says quietly, peering into the beaker she and River sealed the slug inside.
The black slime no longer writhes against the glass. It lies motionless, spread thin and wrong, like something pretending to be dead.
“My guess is whatever that thing is… it can’t get across,” River mutters, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Electricity,” Nala notes, scribbling quickly in her notebook. “Something else it doesn’t like, that might be something we can work with.”
If that’s true, we might have the edge we need. Though I don’t know how we can handle enough electricity to fry the thing.
“How did it even find us?” I question, shrugging my shoulders.
“Because we have a part of it,” Nala says, gesturing to the beaker, and my body grows cold.
“She’s right, if it is a Siphon like we think, it will be able to detect all kinds of magic, including its own,” Ryder adds, screwing his eyebrows at it.
“Well, maybe we should get rid of it… throw it overboard?” River gestures to the ocean, and I nod my head. We are basically carrying a tracker.
“No, we don’t know how it works. The last thing we need is for it to possess some giant sea creature, or the eels, for that matter.” Ryder shakes his head, deep in thought.
“Well, if it can’t get across, we’re safe, right?” Nala adds, but her face doesn’t reflect her thoughts.
“Not necessarily, there is another way—
“You’re telling me we didn’t have to get on this creepy ass boat.” River interrupts.
“No, I said there’s another way, it is possible to go around the waters, but that could take days… days we don’t have,” Ryder says, and River crosses his arms and gives an unimpressed look.
“Okay, days. That’s good, right? We are now a few days ahead of it, one less thing to worry about!” Nala says, unconvincingly.
“If the stories of the Hollow are true, that thing may be the least of our worries,” Ryder says, and a weighty silence follows. He turns and walks towards the seats that wrap around the boat.
Now that my heart has calmed down, I can finally assess my surroundings.
The boat is definitely not how I imagined.
It doesn’t rock. It doesn’t even creak. It glides, steady as breath, inches above the crashing waves.
The floorboards are wooden and physically aged; there are places where the wood has splintered, creating gaps where light filters in, casting jagged shadows across the space.
Every step we take is calculated, careful not to lose our footing.
The walls, though warped and cracked, still bear the remnants of their former splendour, with intricate carvings and faded paint along their edges, hinting at the time when the boat was a grand vessel.
Below us, the charged water ripples in unnatural patterns—light weaving like serpents, reaching up as if tasting the bottom of the hull.
I sit down next to Ryder.
“What did you give him?” I whisper, afraid of the answer. “What memory?”