Chapter 19 Threk
THREK
We are one, a single, fused, terrified thing. We are a creature of rock and flesh and fear, wedged into a grave of stone.
My body is a prison for her. My chest crushes her, pinning her small, warm body to the frozen rock at her back.
My hand is a cage over her mouth, and I can feel her hot, panicked breaths beat against my palm.
I can taste the salt of her fear. My own heart is a hammer, a frantic, painful slam against my ribs, but my body is utterly, agonizingly still.
My world is scent.
I smell the elf. It is a cold, sharp, arrogant smell, like ozone and winter. It smells like hate. It is the scent of my agony. And I smell the human soldier. He is sweat and iron and fear.
He is close.
His boot crunches on the snow, the sound a thunderclap in the suffocating silence. It is right there, just on the other side of the pine boughs, mere feet from my face.
He is going to find us.
The red haze boils in my blood. The elven magic inside me screams, a shriek of pure, suicidal rage. It demands that I kill. It wants me to explode from this rock. It wants me to fight, to tear him apart. It wants me to die.
I see the soldier's boot through the pine boughs.
He is going to find us.
No.
A new thought, cold and clear, cuts through the rage.
If I kill him, the others will come. Larda will come. And Betty will die.
Stealth. Not rage. Stealth.
I fight the red haze. I push it down. It is a war inside my skull. I am shaking with the strain, my muscles locked and burning with the unspent fury.
The boot stops.
The soldier grunts. "Nothing here!" he shouts to the clearing. "Just a damn rockfall."
He kicks the pine boughs.
The branches whip against my face. A cold spray of snow hits my eyes. He is inches away.
He misses us.
He grunts again. "It's freezing. The beast is long gone. It's leading us on a chase."
He crunches away, his steps retreating.
The breath leaves my body in a shudder.
But we are not safe yet.
I can hear them. I hear Larda, his voice a hissing fury. I hear the elves spreading out. I hear the soldiers, clumsy and loud. They are not leaving. They are searching the clearing.
They will find the blood. It stains the snow everywhere. They will find the hole in the cabin. They will find the tracks that lead to this rock.
We cannot stay here. This crevice is a tomb.
I look at Betty.
Her blue eyes are wide and black with terror, visible even in the dim light. She is shaking so that I can feel the vibration against my chest. She is not a warrior. She cannot run fast. She cannot fight. She is cold. Her lips are blue. If the elves do not kill her, the mountain will.
My heart aches. A new, terrible pain. Protect. Warm. Mine.
The red haze surges again, demanding a final, glorious fight. Kill them all. Die protecting her.
No.
Live.
Live for her.
A plan forms in my mind. It is clear and sharp, a crystal in the red mud. I am the target. I am the beast they hunt.
So I will give them a hunt.
I ease the pressure of my hand on her mouth.
She gasps, a small, terrified breath.
I press my claws—gently to my own lips.
Silent.
Her eyes are wide, questioning. She stares at me.
I point. At myself.
Then I point outside. Into the woods. Away from the clearing.
I go.
Her eyes scream: No. Don't leave me.
I point at her. I point down, deeper into the crevice.
You stay. You hide.
This is a test. Does she trust me? Does she understand?
Her terror is a sickness in the air. She is paralyzed.
I cannot wait.
I lean forward. I press my tusks against her forehead. A promise. I will return.
I pull away from her.
The sound of rock grinding against my hide is too loud. I wince. But the elves are shouting, giving orders. They do not hear.
I slip out of the crevice. The cold hits my body, wet with her warmth and my blood.
I am silent. I am a shadow.
I look at Betty. A small, pale ghost in the dark.
Stay.
I move.
I am Urog with honor. My feet are silent on the snow. My body glides through the shadows of the pines.
I circle the clearing, keeping to the rocks.
I see them. Larda, a black stain of rage by the cabin. The elves, moving with a deadly, fluid grace. The human-soldiers, clumsy, angry, cold.
Joric. He is shivering by the fire, useless. Good.
I need to pull them away. Away from her.
I move to the far side of the clearing. The opposite direction from the crevice.
I found a dead branch. It is as thick as my arm.
I wait. I listen.
Now.
I snap the branch.
CRACK!
The sound is louder than a thunderclap in the silent, frozen woods.
Every head in the clearing snaps toward the sound.
"There!" the elf screams. "To the north!"
Yes. Follow me.
I run.
I do not run silent. I run loudly. I crash through the bushes. I slam my shoulder against trees as I go. I drag my wounded leg, painting the snow with a bright, thick trail of my blood.
I make it easy for them.
Come, little elves. Come, little traitors.
I hear them behind me. The clink of armor. The shouts of men. The singing, cold orders of the elves.
They are fast.
But I am Urog. I’m a warrior.
The pain shooting through my leg is a fire. The cold burns my lungs. I do not care.
Run.
I lead them deep into the woods, away from the cabin.
A human-soldier cuts me off. He bursts through the trees, spear raised, his face wide with terror and greed.
"It's here! I have it!" he screams.
The red haze surges. KILL!
The soldier lunges. But I am faster, moving inside the reach of his spear before he can set it.
My fist connects like a stone hammer, collapsing his chest with a sickening, wet crunch.
He lets out a wet, broken gasp, his eyes wide with shock.
Before he can properly scream, my other hand is at his throat, squeezing.
Not to kill. To silence.
I slam his head against the trunk of a pine, the solid thud echoing flatly as he drops to the snow. It is silent, fast, and brutal.
I leave the body where it fell and run.
Behind me, I hear the elves find him, their shouts a mixture of confusion and anger. Good.
I push myself hard for a mile, charging uphill, the shooting pain in my leg a white-hot agony with every step.
And then, I stop.
I step sideways off the trail, planting my feet on a wide stretch of bare rock that the wind has swept clean of snow. Here, I leave no tracks. I leave no blood trail. I vanish.
I wait, perfectly still, and listen. The shouts of the elves grow more distant, their tones shifting to anger and confusion. They are lost.
I am not.
I turn and begin to move back toward the cabin. My strength is from the Urog, but this... this is new. For the first time, my mind feels like my own. I move with a silence that matches the snow falling from the pines.
When I return to the clearing, it is empty. Good. I move to the crevice, my heart pounding, only to find it empty as well.
No.
A cold, black panic seizes my heart, a fear worse than the elves, worse even than the red haze.
Did they take her? Did I fail?
"Betty?" The word is a broken, raw groan torn from my throat.
"Threk?"
A faint whisper answers me from above.
She hid. She didn't just stay in the crevice; she climbed deeper and higher into the rockfall. Smart.
Relief washes over me, so strong it steals my breath and makes my wounded leg buckle.
I look up and see her small, pale face peeking over a ledge ten feet above me.
I reach up, my arm easily spanning the distance. My hand becomes a platform. "Come," I grunt.
She climbs down onto my hand, her weight nothing. A leaf.
I lower her gently to the ground, where she immediately falls against my chest, her small hands fisting in my hide as she shakes.
"You came back," she sobs into my chest.
Always.
I push her away gently, just enough to look at her. "Run," I grunt, grabbing her hand. It is so small, it vanishes in mine.
We move, this time together, silent and fast.
We run away from the shouts of the elves, who are still lost in the woods.
We run until my leg screams. We run until the shouts are gone.
I stop. I am drained. My leg is on fire.
Betty leans against me, gasping.
I do not know this part of the mountain.
But I know where to go.
It is not a thought. It is not a memory.
It is a pull.
It is humming deep in my bones. A song under the skin of the world. It pulls west. Up.
It is warm. It is safe. It is power.