Chapter The Border Wraith
THE BORDER WRAITH
Phillip charged headlong into the woods, spurred on by Hazel’s urgent commands. She chanced a glance over her shoulder, fully expecting Slaide to be on her tail, but was surprised to find he wasn’t. She took the opportunity to slow the horse down and take inventory of her surroundings.
The forest was thick and dark here. The trees pressed in closely, and the path had grown almost nonexistent. The evening had been drawing close, but she could no longer see the sky through the canopy to tell how late it was. The air was heavy and cool, almost damp.
She led Phillip aside and dismounted, walking alongside him briefly before deciding to continue on foot, even if she knew she was safer atop the giant horse. He would draw far too much attention when what she needed was stealth. So, she left Phillip to his grazing and walked on alone.
As the forest grew thicker, the air stirred.
A familiar buzz passed over her, similar to the one she’d experienced coming and going from Agnes’s warded home.
And yet, it was different. The pressure on her head was nearly unbearable.
Her skin tingled, the locket warmed, and the hair on her arms stood on end.
She was pimpled in gooseflesh as the sensation rolled over her.
It was cold. So cold. Someone called her name in the distance.
It might have been Slaide, but she wasn’t sure.
Her hearing was muffled and her head was a bog.
She remembered his promise. His threat. Go ahead and run, little witch. It will be that much more fun when I catch you. She pressed on anyway. Let him catch her. She was done caring.
Hazel knew in her bones she’d reached the Border. The magical palisade between Aeos and everything Beyond. She didn’t see the obelisks, but there must be one close, given the vibrations in the air. She just needed to make it through, and then past the restricted zone beyond.
She came to a halt, head pounding, and seemingly out of nowhere, Slaide caught up with her. He must not have liked what he witnessed.
“What did I tell you about—shit,” he said, moving to her.
“Slaide?” she asked, the world around her growing hazy. “W-what’s happening? I feel…” She spilled her guts then, vomiting what was left in her stomach onto the forest floor. When she sat up, a trickle ran from her nose.
Slaide’s eyes went wide. Had she ever seen so much surprise in his face before? Such concern?
She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her leathers and it came away blood-streaked. Her eyes met his. She was so light, a feather that might float away.
He lurched to her side, catching her just before she could hit the ground.
Hazel giggled, trying unsuccessfully to push his hands away. “S-stop. That… tickles.”
“Hazel, stop.” His words were muffled as she shoved her hands in his face, her fingers smashing into his lips and mouth. “I’m… trying… to help… you,” he got out while attempting to fight her off. He finally got a grasp on her wrists and held tight, pushing her to the ground.
She laughed again, bucking her hips and kicking wildly. Much to her surprise, Slaide straddled Hazel, pinning her wrists to the ground above her head.
“I knew you liked me,” she slurred. “I never thought you’d be so direct, though.”
A sinister expression overtook his face, as though a war waged within. His grip tightened on her wrists, and his eyes began to darken. But as quickly as it had come on, the feral beast shrunk away as Slaide shook his head, seemingly trying to clear his mind.
“Hazel. Hazel, look at me,” he commanded. When she didn’t listen, he let go of one wrist and grabbed her chin. He turned her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Weightlessness overcame her and Slaide’s touch was hardly noticeable as he shook her.
“Snap out of it, Hazel. Come back.” But she didn’t respond.
All she could do was watch as Slaide started rummaging through his pack. “Gods damn it all. Where is—gotcha!” He returned to Hazel, still lying on the ground where he’d left her. He sat her up slowly and her head lolled to the side. Try as she might, she couldn’t control her neck.
She couldn’t decide if time was moving both unusually fast or painstakingly slow, but Slaide was moving in slow motion as he grabbed the cork stopper between his teeth and pulled it from the vial.
When he cringed at the smell, she tried to laugh at him.
The joke was swiftly turned on her when he shoved the vial under her nose without warning.
Hazel came to in a violent fit of gagging and coughing, followed by a heave of bile into the grass. “What. The fuck. Was that?” She spat.
Slaide chuckled, and she glared at him after wiping her mouth. “Welcome back.” He brought forth a waterskin and offered it to her.
While she drank deeply, Slaide said, “That was Border sickness. And this,” he held up the vial, cork replaced, “just saved your life. Hartshorn salt. Potent, unpleasant stuff. Better than being dead, though, which is where you were headed.”
She stared at the vial and the white powder within, stomach roiling in response.
Something in the distance cried out, a mix between a howl and a scream. Judging by Slaide’s reaction, it wasn’t some simple wolf or were-cat.
“Do I even want to know?” she hesitantly questioned.
Slaide bristled, his entire body fraught with tension.
“Slaide?”
“Shh!” he scolded her. “Border wraith.” As though that was supposed to answer her questions.
Border… what? “Excuse me, what now? What’s a Border wraith?”
He grabbed her by the wrist and began dragging her. “Trust me, it’s not worth finding out. We need to move. Now.”
Hazel pondered the urgency. It hadn’t sounded overly close, but… As if on cue, a second screeching wail tore her from her thoughts. Whatever it was, it was closer than before. Much closer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end the way they always did before something ominous happened.
The air grew cooler, the temperature dropping unnaturally fast as though something had sucked the warmth out of the atmosphere.
Slaide was moving before she had time to recognize anything was happening. She didn’t see him move, but he barreled into her, forcing the air from her lungs and slamming her to the ground.
“What in the name of all the gods. Slaide!” She huffed. “Get off!”
Instead, Slaide slapped a hand over her mouth and shimmied himself so that his body almost completely covered hers. “Shh,” he whispered against her ear. “Don’t. Move.”
She was staring at the sky, watching the clouds slide across the moon and stars. A breeze caressed the trees, and the crickets still sang around them. Aside from that, the world was completely silent.
And then it all stopped. The chirping. The rustling leaves. The soft breeze. If the world could get any quieter, it did.
A feeling crept over Hazel that made her want to shrink down even smaller than she was and hide herself completely under Slaide’s form. Her silver locket was hot against her skin.
Something was wrong. So wrong. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though that could offer more protection than leaving them open.
Slaide’s breathing was so slow and shallow in comparison to her own.
Too loud. She was breathing too loud. Her heart thumped against her ribs, betraying her as she willed it to be quiet.
It came into view then—an eerie, ghostly presence.
A cloaked figure walked toward their hiding place in the tall grass, just off the path.
No, walking was the wrong way to describe it.
It was floating, gliding through the air, its tattered shroud billowing behind it.
Its face, if it had one, was cloaked in shadow and covered in a hood.
Sleeves draped down to its long, spindly fingers, bone-white in the moonlight.
The smell hit her before it reached them. Rot and decay, but not the earthy, loamy kind. This thing polluted the air with the stench of a days-old corpse left to bake in the summer sun. Her stomach rebelled, and it took an extreme mental effort not to gag.
Slaide’s words echoed in her mind as it grew closer.
Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. It floated so near she wondered how it hadn’t seen them yet.
But some things were better left unanswered, and this she quickly learned as the wraith pulled back its hood, revealing a corpse-like face—or at least what was left of one.
It was then she understood why they’d been able to hide in plain sight: it was blind. Well, not just blind, but lacking eyes altogether.
The Border wraith had gaping black pits where its eyes should be and two dark slits for a nose. When it opened its mouth, she was met with a view of two rows of needle-sharp fangs. It was gliding close. Too close.
She was sure this thing could hear her every breath, if not her telltale heart. It could probably smell her, too, because the amount of stress she was feeling was without a doubt seeping through her pores.
As if on cue, the wraith tilted its head back and sniffed, something akin to a wild beast on the hunt. Its slitted nostrils flared wide as it sampled the air around it. Then it opened its mouth and panted before licking its lips greedily.
Oh, they were so dead. Maybe. Hazel had not the slightest clue what these wraiths did and made a mental note to ask Slaide later.
“Sslaaaide,” came a voice, dragging out his name in a hiss. “You’re not supposed to beee heeere.” The wraith looked over them slowly, its eyeless gaze dragging so painfully slow that Hazel wondered if perhaps it did have vision after all.
“I can sense you, Slaaaide. You and your friend. And oooh, she smells exquisite.” Its face twisted into something reminiscent of a smile, but with more teeth.
“She’s special, Slaaaide. But you knew that, didn’t you.
Just like you knew better than to bring her into our domain.
Why don’t you reveal yourselves? Any friend of Ssslaide’s… will make an excellent sssacrifice.”