Chapter 12
12
G RAY SKIES, GRAY REALM . H UNCHED beneath the haphazard lean-to I share with Harper, I draw my wet blanket around my shoulders, though there’s no warmth to be had. It has rained for the past three days in an unceasing torrent. A cold drizzle pelts like small, stinging pebbles against my face.
The river has swelled beyond its banks—too dangerous to cross. We must wait until the rising water recedes. Until then, we’re stuck. Wasted days, but then again, Harper and I haven’t figured out a way forward.
I sigh and push to my feet. Everything I own is drenched. My sopping dress smothers my skin. My pack, too, is soaked: clothes, food, journal. “I’m going to see if there’s another way around the river,” I tell Harper.
She mumbles something unintelligible through chattering teeth, face tucked into her knees, arms wrapped around her shins.
My blanket falls to the ground with a wet slap. Mud squelches beneath my waterlogged boots as I trudge toward the River Twee, following its rapids northwest for a time. There is no way across. If the rain doesn’t abate by tomorrow, I’m going to suggest Harper and I return to the nymph-guarded entrance to Under. The creature might accept another offering if we are properly remorseful. As it stands, it’s our only option if we are to return to Thornbrook on time.
As I return to camp, the rain begins to taper off—a small miracle. When I reach the lean-to, however, I find my bedroll gone, my blanket along with it. Harper has snatched both and piled them atop her own bedroll as additional protection from the sodden earth, leaving me to sleep in the mud.
I stare at Harper. She stares back. One eyebrow lifts as though to say, What are you going to do about it? Then she rolls over, presenting me her back.
A hot shimmer infuses my skin. The heat swells: pressure in my throat, a sting across my cheeks. How dare she steal what’s mine.
A hole lies within my chest, and within that hole dwells a beast. It must be soothed at all hours of the day, always denied sustenance, otherwise it would grow beyond the confines of its hovel, beyond myself. I would no longer control it. The beast would control me.
The beast is restless though, weary with irritation. Three days I have spent in Harper’s company. Standing in the downpour, I consider returning to Thornbrook. I will run as fast as my legs can carry me, abandoning my companion to the wilds of Carterhaugh. Maybe something horrible will befall her. With no one to challenge me, I will become the next acolyte by default, Meirlach or not.
“I’m cold,” Harper whines.
“Mother Mabel said no fire in the evenings,” I gripe. It’s doubtful we could produce a spark in this wet environment anyway.
She peeks over the blanket with deep satisfaction. My blanket. “You’re shivering,” she notes.
Droplets wend down my face as I duck into the lean-to and fold myself into a corner. I have every intention of yanking my blanket off her, but I don’t. No fire. No blanket. No bedroll. It will be a miserable night indeed.
Abruptly, Harper pushes to her feet and tromps behind our shelter. After a while, I catch the scent of smoke.
I’m up, striding toward the bent, wizened tree shielding Harper from the downpour. Crouched beneath its branches, she nurses a small, damp fire to life.
“What are you doing?” I lunge toward the flames, intending to stamp them out, but she slams into me, knocking me off-balance. A root catches my heel, and I go down, sinking into squelching mud.
Harper stands over me, having planted herself in front of the flames. “Touch the fire, and I’ll rip you to shreds.”
I’m too dumbfounded to respond. Slowly, I climb to my feet, gazing at the flare of spitting flames, the enlarged pool of illumination. “The fair folk are attracted to light in darkness. You know this.”
“That is no concern of mine.”
“Well, it should be!” Again, I edge forward, but Harper shoves me back.
“I can’t sleep without it,” she snarls.
“And I can’t sleep with it.” My shoulder rams hers, and she shrieks, tumbling head over feet in an impressive display of athletics.
A low whine slithers through the gaps between the branches above, an eerie sound that pricks at my awareness, a gust reeking of rot.
Harper does not notice the change. A smack of fabric, and she’s on her feet. Her ranting climbs in volume, arms swinging and pretty features pinched in a fit of unchecked rage. I grip her arm, hoping to calm her. She screams and flies at me. The harder I resist, the more viciously she fights, thrashing about like a fish on a line. If I’m not careful, she’ll bloody my nose purely by accident.
Securing Harper’s arms in both of my hands, I force her still. “Hush,” I plead, breathless with dread. “Listen.”
A rattling moan skates over the ferns. The leaves shiver in response.
Harper stiffens. “What was that?”
I kick dirt over the fire. Its flames sputter, smoke spewing from the ashes.
The extinguished light casts a heavy pall over the area. The trees resemble streaks of soot against the darkest sky. There is no brightness, no moon.
I straighten warily. My fingers creak as they curl around my dagger and pull it free of its sheath. I scan the dim. Two women, alone in the dark. What infests these woods? What have we called closer with our fire and light?
“What do we do?” Harper whispers.
I whip up a hand, demanding silence.
The vibrations arrive in beats of four. A momentary pause before they resume, shuddering up my legs and stirring the fabric of my skirt. Somewhere in the distance, a tree shatters, and Harper recoils, whimpering. The four-legged gait picks up speed. Whatever the manner of beast, it is massive.
“We run.” It’s our only option.
Harper backs away, eyes flitting from pocket to darkened hollow, searching the darkness oozing across the forest floor. A hair-raising howl crests and dies.
“We’ll go north,” I murmur, rushing to gather our supplies. I toss Harper her rucksack and slide mine onto my shoulders. “Do you remember the fork in the trail we took earlier? Go left. We can hide in the caves.”
A bellow sends Harper fleeing into the woods. I’m right on her heels, plunging through the enclosing murk where the brush snags our ankles and calves. We veer around a tree and converge a few steps ahead. Beyond lies the divide.
“Left!” I bark, cutting down the path. But when I glance over my shoulder, Harper is gone.