Chapter 30
30
N YX HAD BARELY heeded the whispering behind her—then a name cut through her misery and stabbed her heart.
Bash Aliia…
She fell back into that nightmare atop a fiery mountain. War drums echoed in her head, along with a rising crescendo of screams. She again raced across the dark mountaintop, toward a winged shadow nailed to an altar. A name burst from her throat, ripping forth with a stone-shattering power, naming the tortured beast atop the rock.
Bashaliia!
“No…” she moaned to the others.
She had never shared that particular detail of her vision with Ghyle and Frell. It had seemed unimportant, especially as she had dismissed that mountaintop view as a fevered dream born of poison and terror.
Frell stared at her. “Nyx, what’s wrong?”
She ignored him and turned to her tiny brother in the mists. In her vision, he had been as large as a full-grown bullock, with wings huge enough to lift such a beast into the air. Surely the two could not be the same.
But the name…
Jace misinterpreted her distress. “Nyx, I’m sorry. Of course, you should be the one to pick the name.”
She continued to stare up at her winged brother and admitted what she knew to be true in her heart. “He is Bashaliia,” she whispered, as much as it also terrified her.
As if catching wind of her distress, the bat winged through the mists, cartwheeling and whistling. Her vision frizzed at the edges. No images burned across her mind’s eye, but her heart pounded, fired by his agitation, stoked by his cries.
Even Kanthe noted her brother’s display. “What’s wrong with him?”
The answer came from behind them, rising from the lower chasm. A sharp howl echoed off the rock walls, joined by others. They all froze.
“Thylassaurs,” Frell said.
Kanthe turned back toward the swamps. He shaded his eyes, searching the chasm below, then pointed. “There.”
Nyx shifted next to him. Movement caught her eye. Sunlight glinted off of armor as a long line of knights climbed the steps. The legion moved quickly, but not as swiftly as the dark shadows that raced ahead of them.
Jace drew nearer. “What about those broken steps? Do you think they can make it past there?”
Frell answered, “It may delay the king’s men. They’ll need to rig a rope ladder.”
“But not the thylassaurs,” Kanthe added. “I’ve seen them hunt. They’ll leap that gap in a bound and be on us before long.”
The howling continued, growing in volume and numbers.
The prince cocked an ear in their direction. “I’d say there’s at least ten of the beasts, maybe a dozen.”
Frell pointed up the steps. “Quickly then. We must reach Cloudreach before they close on us.”
“Then what?” Jace asked.
“We’ll figure that out later.” Kanthe herded both Nyx and Jace after the alchymist. “Right now, we don’t want to be caught on this narrow stair.”
They all returned to the foliage-crowded steps and hurried upward. Every step was a battle. Thorns ripped at their clothes and tore skin. Roots and branches sought to block their way. It was as if the entire damp forest intended to trap them and keep them from ascending any farther.
And it wasn’t just the riotous growth.
After fording a score of steps, the group approached a limestone arch that bridged the chasm overhead. Bashaliia sped to it and spun and cartwheeled under its span. He dove and winged in a clear sigil of panic.
“Wait!” Nyx called out.
Everyone turned to her.
She pointed to Bashaliia. “He’s trying to warn us.”
Howls rebounded all around them, filling the air.
“I don’t think we need your brother to deliver that message.” Kanthe waved back down the path.
“No. It’s not the thylassaurs.” Nyx pushed forward and grabbed Frell’s arm. “It’s never been the thylassaurs. Bashaliia does not want us to continue past that arch. It’s what he’s been trying to warn us all along. He senses something higher in the pass.”
Jace crowded with them. “What?”
Nyx shook her head. She didn’t know the answer, but she was certain of one thing. “It’s worse than the thylassaurs.”
She got support from an unexpected source. “I think that little bastard might be right after all,” the prince said.
K ANTHE STOOD AT the edge of their small landing. He drew the others’ attention to a deep blue pool in the river far below. A chattering cascade flowed into it from one side and a misty waterfall raged out the other. Between the two, the pool was shimmering glass, clear enough to reveal its bottom. Smooth river rock lined its surface—but that was not all that the current had polished.
Bones formed cadaverous mounds in the crystalline depths. Skulls of every size were heaped below, from giants with broken horns to tinier domes with pointed beaks. Leg bones crisscrossed throughout, some ending in yellowed claws or bleached hooves. Hundreds of shattered ribcages lay tangled together like woodland deadfalls, home now to scuttling crabs and a few silvery fishes.
Worst of all were the hollow-eyed skulls of dead men, some still wearing bright helms. A hundred swords stuck out of those piles, a few clutched in skeletal hands.
Kanthe turned to the others. “I think we now know why this pass was named Path of the Fallen. ”
They all turned to the archway and the frantic bat’s efforts to ward them away.
“What’s up there?” Jace asked.
All around, the howls of the thylassaurs turned to savage wails, close enough to hear the hunger in those hunting cries.
“We don’t know,” Kanthe said, “but we do know what’s back there.”
“We keep going,” Frell decided. “We have no choice. Maybe those bones are centuries old.”
No one objected as the thylassaurs’ fury grew. It was death to remain on the stairs with that savage pack approaching.
As they headed toward the arch, Kanthe was not fooled by his mentor’s words. He eyed the bat dancing in the air above and took heed of that warning. He slipped his bow into his hand and drew an arrow to his fingers. Still, he felt no conviction his preparation would help. He pictured all those silvery swords in dead men’s hands.
Weapons certainly hadn’t helped them.
They crossed warily under the archway, all holding their breath. But the steps beyond the span looked no different than the ones behind them. The forest filled the breadth of the chasm ahead. They fought their way higher, step by step, landing by landing. Still no threat revealed itself.
Maybe Frell was right…
Nyx was the first to notice the change. “The birds are gone,” she whispered.
Kanthe stopped. He cocked both eye and ear, searching and listening to the tangles of forest. No hawks screamed down at them. There was no chatter from the rookery burrows. He realized it had also been a while since he had spotted any vermin or had to dodge the fangs of a striking serpent.
Frell waved for them to keep going.
As Kanthe continued, he searched for any sign of life that wasn’t green and thorny. He eyed the walls, noting the nesting burrows high up the cliffs, but they all appeared empty and deserted.
Where did they all—
Movement from one of those holes caught his eye. Something fell out and rolled down the cliff face. It vanished into the undergrowth.
He stopped, letting the others pass. He squinted at the other holes, but he failed to spot any other such occurrence. He began to turn away, ready to dismiss it as a displaced rock, when another gray-black ball popped out of another old rookery nest and bounced and rattled down the wall.
Then another.
And another.
He tried to fathom this mystery, until a cry burst ahead of him. He barged through the leafy brush to join the others. On the next landing, Nyx stood with a hand over her mouth. Jace drew her back a step, while Frell leaned forward.
Something sprawled across the rock ahead.
Kanthe pushed forward to see.
Nyx mumbled, “Poor thing…”
Kanthe joined Frell. The body of a dwarf deer lay stretched on its side across the landing. Its legs stuck out stiffly in death. Its glassy eyes stared at them. Its belly was distended with bloat.
“What killed it?” Jace asked.
With the eye of a hunter, Kanthe looked for any wound, for a spot of blood.
Frell’s next words sent a shiver through Kanthe. “It’s not dead.”
“What?” Nyx backed another step, sounding as horrified as Kanthe felt.
But Frell was right. As Kanthe stared, the deer’s eye shifted toward the alchymist as he spoke. From its nostrils, a tiny pained breath escaped, so weak it didn’t appear to move its chest.
Kanthe cringed in pity at its state.
It’s alive but unable to move.
With the macabre interest of an alchymist, Frell bent a knee closer. He mumbled, “Are those black thorns in its neck?”
Kanthe had no interest in answering that riddle. He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze away—but where his eyes ended up settling was far worse. The deer’s bloated stomach had begun to ripple, like a stew at a slow boil.
“Frell…” Kanthe warned, and pointed.
The alchymist grabbed his shoulder and drew them all away. “Stand back.”
The churning of the deer’s belly grew intense. A plaintive bleat escaped the beast’s throat. Then its stomach burst in a wash of blood, releasing a squirming mass of white worms, each as large as his smallest finger. They roiled and rolled across the landing, swimming through the bile and blood.
The group fled backward with gasps and cries of shock. But the blind worms ignored them, writhing off into the leafy brush, shying from brighter patches on the rock.
“What are they?” Nyx asked.
Frell looked at her, his face ashen with knowledge. But before he could answer, a clattering rose from all directions. It sounded like hail striking a slate roof.
Kanthe remembered the strange sight a moment ago. He straightened and turned to a break in the forest. It offered a glimpse to the cliffs to either side. From the old rookery nests, armored balls, each the size of his fist, surged from those holes and rattled down the rock. Hundreds of them. From ahead and behind. Even from the cliffs on the far side of the river.
The clattering rose into a hailstorm.
As he stared, one of the spheres bounced off a wall toward them. It unfolded its armored segments, flaring black spines along its back and spreading fluttering translucent wings. It flew through the air with a menacing buzz.
What in Hadyss’s fiery prick is that?
Frell answered his silent question.
It sounded like a curse.
“Skriitch…”
N YX SEARCHED THE misty forests in horror. The dry-bone clattering around them transformed into the rising drone of wings. The noise spread all around like a brushfire through dry sedge. With her heart hammering, she readied to run, but Frell caught her eye and shook his head.
The alchymist grabbed Kanthe and drew the prince low. “No one move,” he warned in low tones.
Jace snatched Nyx and pulled her down. He dropped his voice to a whisper, directed at Frell. “Skriitch. I thought they died out centuries ago.”
“What is inscribed in ink is often written more with hope than certainty.” Frell faced them as they hunkered. He spoke rapidly to share what he knew, knowledge they needed to survive. “Skriitch are an ancient scourge. They’re paralytic with their stings, flesh-eaters who nest in the living to feed their young. They hunt blind, drawn by loud noises and the smell of a prey’s breath.”
Nyx stared over at the ruins of the tiny deer. It was mercifully dead, gutted and bled by the horde of voracious maggots. Most of the worms had squirmed into the shadows, but a handful still delved the torn cavity or writhed in the blood. The stench on the landing was not the clean smell of a fresh kill, but the malignant reek of corruption and putrefaction.
Frell pointed past the carcass. “Up. It’s still our only hope. But we must move with care. Shield our breaths.” He demonstrated by using the loose cuff of his sleeve to cover mouth and nose. His voice was muffled. “Pray their queen remains in slumber.”
With those cryptic words, he led the way forward.
Jace stopped them at the remains of the deer. “Wait,” he whispered through the edge of his cloak. “I once copied a moldering edition of Haasin’s Primordia Biologicum. From four centuries ago. It spoke of the skriitch. And a possible warding. According to Haasin, the grubs infuse some scent into their kills, marking their fleshy nests. Maybe to keep other skriitch from skewering more eggs into already occupied flesh.”
Frell looked at Jace with sharper eyes, plainly seeing her friend in a new light. Nyx remembered her conversation with Jace, back when she had tried on her Ascension robe, which seemed like a lifetime ago. She had told Jace that his education in the scriptorium was unique and important in its own right.
“How does that knowledge help us?” Kanthe asked, staring all around.
Jace knelt and dragged his cloak through the pool of blood and bile. “Daubing such signaling scent on our bodies could further discourage their attention, make them think we’re already afflicted.”
Kanthe nodded at this suggestion. “Why not? I’ve certainly smelled worse in the past.”
They all quickly soaked and coated the gore on cloaks, robes, breeches, and smeared the same on their cheeks. Nyx fought to hold her stomach down at the stench. Kanthe reached toward her with a befouled hand. She flinched away, but he plucked a fat worm from her shoulder, near to crawling into her hair. She frantically searched the rest of her body for any others but found none.
Once they were all finished, Frell glanced around at the horde buzzing throughout the forest. “I think the only reason we’ve not already been assaulted is the reek of this corpse. We’ll have to pray that sickly miasma carries with us long enough to cross out of their territory. Let’s go.”
They set off again through the forest as the mists thickened. The canopy of the trees vanished above them. The drone of the skriitch haunted their path. Leaves stirred with their winged passage. The mists shivered. They crept upward, step by hard-earned step.
The skriitch continued to ignore them. After a time, with her arm over her mouth and nose, Nyx spotted several of the creatures roosting in shrubs, their weight bobbing the tiny branches. More clung to gnarled trunks, nearly blending into the bark. It seemed the horde was growing exhausted.
Then something struck her upper arm.
She winced and twisted her shoulder to look. A skriitch had landed there. She froze and stared. Eight pairs of jointed legs clasped to her sleeve. Its body was broken into the same number of armored segments, while the two centermost were hinged open, bursting forth with two wings on each side, an upper and lower wing, threaded through by tiny veins. Its foremost sections reared up on her sleeve, waving fringed antennae, testing the air. It also exposed a gnashing of four mandibles. As it perched there, it breathed heavily, the segments expanding and contracting. Each breath also lifted and lowered a ridge of black spines.
She pictured those same spikes impaled in the throat of the dwarf deer.
The skriitch lowered back down and crawled up her arm. It traipsed through the bloody gore on her shoulder. It dabbled there as she held her breath—then finally leaped away and flew off.
She shivered, both in terror and relief. She found the others staring back at her, but she waved them on. Sweat soon coated all their faces, threatening to wash the smears off their cheeks. They continued in silence, doing their best to avoid the buzzing horde that continued to settle all about the forest. Still more droned and hunted the mists and foliage.
With his gaze above, Jace’s boot snapped a dry branch underfoot. He ducked as a pair of skriitch immediately sped at him from the canopy. They passed over the crown of his head, then circled blindly back, clearly searching for the source of the noise. He clamped his cloak harder over his mouth. The pair circled twice more, then finally whizzed away.
Frell lifted his brows at Jace, silently warning him to be wary.
On they went.
No one knew how far the skriitch’s territory extended, but Nyx imagined there had to be a limit. The horde had not spread and infested the lower chasm over the centuries. It was as if something was bottling them up here. Maybe it was the thicker mists; maybe it was some scent in the air, like what wafted from their fouled clothes.
Frell stopped ahead, his shoulders slumping.
They gathered to him and saw the reason for his halt. The river cut across their path. The steps upward continued on the far side.
“We’ll have to swim,” Frell whispered dourly.
They all knew the danger was not the river’s current. This stretch of the chasm was relatively flat, so the stream looked sluggish and manageable. But the forest on the other side buzzed with more of the skriitch. The cliffs ahead were pocked with hundreds of their warrens, along with larger caves. If they swam across, the gore would be washed from their clothes and bodies, leaving them exposed and defenseless.
“We have to risk it,” Frell said.
No one argued.
One after the other, they slipped into the cold stream. They tried not to splash and draw attention. Nyx stayed alongside Jace. Kanthe trailed, clutching his bow in one hand and kicking low with his legs. Their eyes remained on the sky, on the air above them. Skriitch buzzed past their heads. A few even crashed atop the water, roiling and fluttering, only to be swept past them.
Finally, they reached the far bank. Frell discovered steps under the water that led out of the river. He crouched there. “We must move quickly. Pray we’re close to the end of their domain. If stung, keep running for as long as you can. Be ready to help each other if someone falters.”
Nyx swallowed and nodded.
Frell turned back to the steps—but Kanthe grabbed his arm.
“Stay,” the prince warned.
Frell frowned. “I know it’s danger—”
“No.” Kanthe turned to the other side of the river. “Listen.”
With her heart pounding and the terror in the air, she had gone deaf to the echoing howl of the hunting thylassaurs. The pack wailed and screamed, likely scenting how close their prey was.
Kanthe faced them, his eyes huge. “Wait,” was all he said.
The triumphant cries of the hunters grew louder, more excited, echoing everywhere. But Nyx and the others weren’t the only ones listening. Skriitch streaked past overhead, all racing toward the howling pack, ready to paralyze the trespassers, each vying to be the first to lay its clutch of eggs into these new warm nests. The skies above the river briefly thickened with their forms as the horde swept down the chasm.
Nyx lowered warily in the water as she watched them pass. Finally, the river cleared of their buzzing wings, until only a few leaden skriitch traced the mists. These last wobbled, a few falling into the current, clearly too old or enfeebled to offer much threat.
“Now,” Kanthe said.
They climbed out of the stream, their clothes heavy and shedding water with each step.
Kanthe glanced across the river. “I’ve never been happier to be hunted.”
“We still must hurry,” Frell warned. “And heed what I said before.”
They took off, not bothering to remain silent any longer. The baying cries of the thylassaurs covered the occasional snapped branch or tumble of loose rock. As they fled upward, those victorious howls transformed into pained, terrified wails and yelps. Nyx pictured the slinky beasts coated in clinging skriitch, being stung and bit, impaled and seeded. Pity for them flickered through her, especially remembering the tortured state of the tiny deer.
No creature deserved such a cruel end.
Half focused behind her, she ran square into Frell, who had skidded to a stop ahead. She bounced off of him, only to be pushed even farther back.
She spotted the reason for his sudden retreat.
Ahead, the woods broke open to expose a section of chasm wall and the mouth of a large cave. The forest looked as if it had been tunneled through to that spot, the branches coated in mats of silvery webbing.
From the cave, the source stalked into view on long jointed legs. It was the size of an ox, only with armored plates across its back. It dragged a long bulbous abdomen behind it. Segmented antennae swung through the air toward them. Each stalk ended in eyes that looked like faceted black diamonds.
As the creature raised its front carapace higher, a triangular head gnashed the air with sharp mandibles. It crawled to the stair and blocked their way.
Frell moaned as he backed them all away. “It’s a skriitch queen.”