CHAPTER TWELVE
I winced as a small bumpy rock prodded the sole of my foot through my boot. Ow. Who didn’t love climbing steep, craggy cliffs?
Me. That was who.
But eight days later, that was exactly what I found myself doing, my every step scraping the rocky dirt path.
Fog shrouded the moss-covered trees, scraggly shrubs, and steep slopes.
The grassy areas here were sparse and weedy, so I could see plenty of cracks in the rock face as I clambered upwards—not comforting.
At this point in time, I was used to such climbs. Talon and the Marshalls brought us back to the Pines again and again, going longer distances each time. But the treks never became easy. Or fun. Or anything I even remotely looked forward to.
And now I was trudging up angled slopes while tired, hungry, and beyond thirsty.
I was also hyper-alert in a way that was plain unnatural, not to mention exhausted because said hyper-alertness made it hard to relax or sleep—all thanks to the good ole ichor, apparently.
Courtesy of that, the past few days had been …
weird. I’d constantly felt all twitchy and jumpy.
People typically felt this way in the days leading up to their power surfacing.
All the candidates were presently experiencing it, some to a worse extent than others.
I’d caught a few of them sobbing—likely from frustration.
If my problem ended at ‘twitchy and jumpy,’ it wouldn’t be so bad.
But it was more than that. Tension would sometimes flood my body, making me feel stiff.
My sensitivity to touch occasionally felt so heightened I’d flinch at the merest touch.
That weird ‘call’ within me felt more intense.
Godsawful headaches would come and go. My heart might randomly start to speed up.
And I could get rushes of emotions that were out of place.
More, I could go from relaxed to panicky in a heartbeat. Or happy to sad. Or sad to amused.
Two nights in a row I’d woken with a start, energy abuzz in my veins.
I’d paced around the tack room over and over, unable to walk it off.
That same energy could sporadically strike me at random times during the day, too.
Little muscles in my body would then jump or tick.
I’d fidget. Hum. Ramble. Even standing still could be a trial.
At such times, it was like you had this overabundance of energy that quite simply spilled out of you, whether you liked it or not.
Supposedly, the more agitated and jittery you were, the more there was a chance that your system wasn’t going to be able to handle the power inside you; that the surfacing of it might actually kill you.
Or even drive you insane.
Both were lovely prospects. And they filled me with sheer dread. Because a human really wasn’t built to handle Sayer abilities. It was possible that I was nothing more than what the Sovereigns considered me to be: an experiment of the gods gone wrong.
I hadn’t disclosed just how edgy I felt.
I didn’t want anyone to know. Mostly, I didn’t want Talon to know.
Because then the Sovereigns would also know—Minos had cautioned him to do better at keeping them updated.
I’d rather they weren’t made aware that I was exhibiting signs that the surfacing of my power might kill me.
They could decide to stick me in a glass-walled room so they could watch the show.
As such, I was being careful to hide it as best I could. Which was not easy when you were dealing with an eagle-eyed being like Talon.
I stilled as pebbles bounced down the winding path, dislodged by a boot up ahead.
This was why I’d been sure to grab a spot near the front of the line.
I’d learned from past experience that, due to how often climbers slipped, you were better off placing as few people between you and Talon—who never stumbled—as possible.
The further down in the line you were, the more you had to deal with falling stones and pine needles coming your way.
“Speed up,” the male behind me griped.
And what would be the point in that, since I’d only bump into Lear? There was none. I didn’t say as much, though. I just ignored him.
There were nine candidates in our current party, plus Talon, Ajax, and Quillen. Chief, Zinc, and Valor were also with us.
Due to the number of candidates who had either died during or dropped out after the most recent battle, our overall number was now down to forty-seven.
Today, the candidates had been split into several small groups.
Each group, together with three officiates, would be staying at an underground observation post—or ‘hide,’ as they were called—for two nights.
I’d never seen any hides before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. There were many in the Pines, all set in various habitats. The hide we’d be staying at was somewhere around here, allegedly.
Much as the route was proving to be a pain in the ass, there were reasons to be grateful.
It wasn’t raining for starters—that would have made things harder.
My knapsack carried only clothes and hygiene items, so the weight of it thankfully wasn’t a drag.
And though there was a breeze, it wasn’t so strong that it slowed our steps or affected our balance.
It did, however, keep blowing dust in my eyes, leaving them dry and sore.
There was yet another thing to be thankful for: We weren’t being asked to jog.
On other occasions, Talon had made us run up and down hills until my lungs burned, my stomach churned, and my leg muscles threatened to go into spasm.
But now that I’d learned exactly what demands, sacrifices, and pain came with being part of the Order, I understood why we were showed no mercy from the outset.
A curse rang out as Lear slipped in front of me. I closed my mouth tight as a cloud of dirt powdered my face. Lovely.
I coughed but kept moving, carefully placing each foot. Every time we reached an even steeper spot on the cliff, I’d grab onto any boulder, finger hold, or ledge that might aid my climb.
Xalbia would be over soon enough. But for those who subsequently joined the Order, the harsh conditions and duties would continue. As would the casualties, if the stealthy attacks didn’t stop sometime soon.
The bodies of the officiates most recently killed had been buried in an honoring ritual during which the Order had celebrated their life even as they mourned their deaths.
Then life went on.
How the officiates moved onward without pause would seem cold to outsiders, but death and loss was all part and parcel of being a member of the Order.
They were used to it. And they liked the idea that those who passed on were now ‘somewhere better.’ Many believed that the ‘somewhere better’ was home to the gods.
Jelani had been supremely quiet and withdrawn since Layna’s death. The rest of our little group had mourned her, but not as deeply as he had. I suspected that he wasn’t simply mourning her but lost opportunities.
The gentle breeze picked up for a mere moment, rippling my clothes and tossing small curls into my face. It had cooled the higher we climbed, and the exposed skin of my nape prickled with the slight chill.
Shadows moved in the fog now and then as something lumbered from one spot to another—snorting, puffing, rumbling.
I heard smaller creatures skittering around, likely taking refuge from the three Laelaps. There were many other sounds. Labored breathing. Grass rustling. Boots scuffing earth. Dogs panting. Claws clicking along the path. The distant roars of waterfalls.
The occasional howl would also ring out. My pulse didn’t even jump my body was so used to it. In fact, I was also—
A piece of slate came loose beneath my foot. I held tight to the boulder I’d gripped and dug in my heels to keep from slipping.
Behind me, a male officiate growled. “Fucking humans.”
“Fucking pricks,” I muttered. Once sure I wouldn’t lose my footing, I wedged the toe of my boot into a crack and pushed upward. Then I was on the move again.
I hated to be a whiner—even in the privacy of my own mind—but I really hoped we rested soon.
I was hungrier and thirstier than usual these days, which Nakoa said I could blame on the ichor.
We’d taken our last break hours ago, and we’d stopped just long enough to chug down fresh water and a handfuls of nuts before Talon ushered us onwards.
I would have given the back of his head a glare if I could see him. The fog hid him from my view. Fog that, if I wasn’t mistaken, was less hazy than usual. Or maybe I was mistaken, because no one had commented on it.
Still … it truly did seem to lack its usual thick density.
I didn’t see how that could be possible, though.
The fog was never thinner in any parts of the Pines.
At least not typically. I’d been to this area before, and I hadn’t noticed a difference in the density of the haze back then. Why would there be a change now?
Why would there be cracks in the Sovereigns’ fortress?
Why would enemy half-bloods be working together?
Too much weird stuff was going on lately.
An oof came from further down the trail, quickly followed by the sounds of pebbles tumbling and other voices cursing—one of which belonged to Atticus.
Yes, he was still fighting for his place in the Order. I would have respected him for it if there weren’t so many things about him that were sneer-worthy. Besides, he only wanted to be part of the Tapestry because he would get to keep whatever abilities he might develop.
As yet, no one had demonstrated any.
Some candidates complained about it constantly—more particularly Seneca and Atticus.
They had always been so sure that the ichor would “click” with their system swiftly and release their suppressed power within days.
As for Bevan … I’d noticed a change in him.
He was less arrogant. More focused. Even seemed to have gained in maturity.