Chapter 13
13
B RANCHES CRACK LIKE BONES AND vines snake across the mossy floor. Springing over a collapsed tree, I veer into Carterhaugh’s black depths, thorns clawing at my dress. My mind is twelve steps ahead, grasping at directions, possible options, as I crash blindly through the brush. The beast gives chase.
South, toward Harper? Or north, into the highlands? Westward, the canyon expands in folds of baked red clay with few places to hide. That leaves the Gray, sitting across the strait to the east.
I push onward. My pack slams into my lower back. My legs ache as the terrain fractures into small eruptions of stone. I clamber over another fallen tree, and the earth buckles as a wave of shattering noise crashes at my back. If I can hide until the creature passes, I can backtrack to the fork and find Harper. A high place. A low place. Any will do.
A creek runs a line of silver through the darkness ahead. The icy water burns, but I follow the current half a mile downstream before leaping onto dry land and circling back. I lose track of how many times I do this, threads crisscrossing in the dark. Panting, soaked in sweat, I sag against a tree when an ear-shattering scream rends the night.
Harper.
My wet boots slip and slide through muck as I race south, the air heavy with damp. Alabaster light leaks through the dense canopy, spotting the mossy ground.
Eventually, the terrain shallows out, and I push my exhausted body to its brink, sprinting flat-out toward a copse of trees in the distance. Meanwhile, Harper’s screams reach me with decreasing frequency. I fear what that might mean.
The reek hits me first: rotting flesh overlaying thick, choking smoke. I’m leaping over fallen trunks and weaving through collapsed branches when I spot her, white skin luminous in the night.
She crouches between the roots of a vast, ancient oak, trying to make herself as small as possible among the crowded ferns. The beast has cornered her. An elongated spine forms ridges along its back, a gross protrusion that matches the bulging cage of its ribs, all clothed in heavy, streaming shadows. It hails from Under. It hails from the deep.
A second set of pitted eyes suddenly appears beyond the collapsed trees surrounding Harper. She does not notice. She is frozen, terror having bled her features of color. And I am nothing but a body in motion, flinging myself into its path.
My appearance draws the beasts’ attention, and one of them snarls. I angle my hips to keep the second creature in sight, fingers tightening around my dagger—one blade, two foes.
“Your dagger,” I hiss. “Give me your dagger!”
“I don’t have it!” Her voice cracks. She is a whimpering dog, flinching from the hand it has bitten. “My bag—” She gestures to the lumpy sack lying between the legs of the advancing beast.
The creature eases forward. Its glistening lips peel back, saliva dripping from a collection of serrated teeth.
My world has narrowed. There is no rock, no vegetation, no earth. I am a woman standing still.
“Listen to me,” I mutter, focusing on the beast before us, its smaller shadow padding closer from behind. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me.” Slowly, I lower my bag to the ground.
“I don’t care who you’re doing it for!” The whites of her eyes flash. “Just kill the damn beasts.”
“I want my bedroll back.”
“What?”
A fat, glistening tongue drags across the larger beast’s upper canines. Branches snap as its companion shoves forward.
“I want my bedroll back,” I state. “Agree to return it, and I will handle the beasts.”
“You can keep your bedroll, keep my bedroll, keep it all. I don’t care. Just kill the things. Please .”
That’s as good of an apology as I will ever receive from her. “Stay low and quiet.”
Harper swallows, then nods.
The larger creature faces me head-on. Its smaller companion paces to its left, more shadow than tangible shape. Heavenly Father, give me strength. I bolt for Harper’s bag.
The larger creature lunges, those tearing fangs passing near my arm as I duck beneath its stomach and weave through its legs, putting my training with Mother Mabel into practice. It pivots, snaps at my chest. I stab my dagger toward its neck. The creature recoils with a snarl. I spring, closing the distance, and catch the bag with my fingertips as the second beast barrels toward me.
I fling myself out of range, dropping the bag in the process. Its contents scatter, including Harper’s dagger. The larger beast bashes the smaller in the ribs, and it careens into a nearby tree with a thunderous crack, the force tearing its roots from the soil.
I dive into the trees, drawing the monstrosities away from Harper. One beast flanks my left, the other my right. Ahead, a gnarled old tree drips shadow. As I reach the trunk, I kick off and land facing the opposite direction, sprinting back toward Harper as the creatures overshoot my location. My chest sears with each heaving gasp. Nearly there. The second dagger lies a few paces away.
“Behind!” Harper cries.
An ear-shattering shriek erupts at my back, and I dive for the weapon. As soon as the dagger hits my palm, I whirl, a blade in each hand, one arm lashing out in a wild arc. The iron sizzles as it melts the flesh of the creature’s shoulder. The beast rears back, howling, allowing me access to its hind legs. Two cuts sever the tendons there.
The creature drops. Its end is my blade, and that blade thrusts downward, plunging into the base of its skull. Black fluid oozes onto filth-caked fur. The first howling creature dies with its last exhalation incomplete. The second crashes through the brush, barreling toward me in feral-eyed rage. I twist as its jaws snap toward me, my dagger punching out to meet it.
Skin, cartilage, bone—the iron blade parts flesh, sinking through the top of the ridged snout with a hiss of smoke. The beast screams and recoils, but my hand clamps the hilt, keeping it steady despite the sting across my chest where the creature’s teeth have sliced me. I shove the blade upward, into the front of its skull, between the eyes. Their polished blackness dulls, and I leap backward as the beast crumples into a motionless heap.
Nothing stirs in the close-knit air. Carterhaugh, at last, is still.
My heartbeat cannot catch its rhythm. It skips every few breaths until I begin to feel lightheaded. I brace my hands on my knees, puffing hard, curls hanging loose around my face. The beasts’ carcasses bleed out, two piles of steaming, rancid meat.
I feel moments from collapse, but I fear what other creatures the disturbance might attract. We’ll need to move, and quickly.
After collecting and cleaning my blades, I return to Harper. She cowers in a ball where I left her, arms clamped over her head, face tucked into her chest.
“Harper.” The moment I grip her shoulder she jerks away with a scream, scratching at me with her eyes closed.
“It’s me!” A hard shake clears her addled mind. “They’re dead.”
Her skin is pallid, sickly white. Her eyes have momentarily lost focus, bright blue rings constricting narrow black pupils. “How?”
Adrenaline has likely muddled my good sense, but I remove my cloak from my rucksack and lay it across her back and shoulders. She huddles beneath its warmth without complaint. “Dumb luck,” I say. Anything could have altered the outcome.
Harper is too quiet. Shock has begun to set in.
Crouching down, I wrap the cloak tighter around her small frame. “Look at me.” I cup her face in my hands. “You’re alive. You’re safe. We both are.”
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispers. “I want to go home.”
We can’t go home. We’ve already lost precious time. But as we move forward, what will the cost be?
“Why would Mother Mabel send us on this mission? It’s a fool’s errand.” The hard click of her chattering teeth sets me on edge. “Have you thought of how easy the other women’s tasks were compared to ours?”
I have. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Previous tasks included working the local soup kitchen, overhauling the abbey library’s organizational system, or apprenticing with the physician to extend our healing services. None of the other novitiates were required to brave Under.
“We’ve come this far,” I say. “Do you really want to give up so soon?”
Clarity enters her narrowed eyes. “I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic. Is an appointment worth the risk of our lives?” Another shudder grips Harper’s body. “I don’t think it is.”
She has a point. We could have been killed. And yet—
“I will make sure you return to Thornbrook safely,” I say. “We can leave at first light.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to find Meirlach.” No matter the obstacle, I will end this mission gripping the hilt of that fabled sword.
Harper studies me, suddenly unsure. If I’m not mistaken, respect lightens her gaze.
I’m probably mistaken.
Movement on the far side of the clearing catches my attention. I shift in front of Harper, dagger out. Zephyrus ambles from the bushes with his hands raised, applauding slowly and intentionally, each clap punctuated by a brief silence.
I stare. His appearance is more rumpled than I have ever seen it. His curls sit in piles of corkscrews, a few leaves scattered throughout. Dirt deadens the green threads of his tunic, the slim, nondescript trousers.
“A mortal woman, ending those beasts with nothing but a knife?” he says. “I am duly impressed.”
Realization wars with the dull horror of the implication. “You were watching the whole time?” My question wobbles. Rage? Disbelief? Perhaps both.
The West Wind shrugs, mouth pursed. “Long enough to see that you had everything under control.” He glances at the fallen beasts, curious. “Your dagger,” he says. “By chance is there salt on your blade?”
The change in topic momentarily confounds me. “I add salt to the water when quenching the blades.”
“Ah.” A vague nod. “That would explain how you were able to bring down the beasts.” At my puzzlement, he elaborates, “Salt greatly weakens them. Luckily, you were quick on your feet and displayed admirable swordsmanship. Whoever your teacher was, he taught you well.”
She taught me well.
My mouth hangs open for a moment before snapping shut. I understand this feeling: skin too tight, body restless. My legs seek movement. Not to walk, but to run, to extend across vast distances, and carry me away from here. “Why didn’t you help us? We could have died!”
“You questioned whether you were capable of completing this journey.” He surveys me as though trying to determine whether something has changed since our last meeting. “Now you know.”
I am staring at a far-off wave. Nearer it comes, its sapphire back arching into a ruffled pearl collar. When the wave hits, it rips the ground from under my feet, and I tumble, caught in the churn of salt and sand.
That is how I feel, pummeled by those words. Now you know .
“You’re an ass!” I spit at Zephyrus.
The West Wind slides his hands into his pockets. “Do you deny that it was necessary?”
“What was necessary,” I growl, striding forward, “was your help. Instead, you watched like a coward in the shadows.”
Lack of light imparts a leanness to his features, an effervescent quality to his skin. He appears more godlike than I have ever seen him, power suffusing his voice, brightening his emerald eyes as he says, “If I believed you were unfit to bring down the beasts, I would have intervened. You have depended on the abbey for protection your entire life. It is time you recognize you can weather what the world throws at you.”
Stepping around me, he bows to my companion, his mouth the shape of laughter before it forms. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of acquaintance,” he says. “I am Zephyrus, the West Wind, Bringer of Spring.”
“I know who you are.” Harper climbs to her feet, hands on hips. “There are tales written about you.” One dark eyebrow twitches upward. The cool, unimpressed motion gives no indication of her hysterics moments ago. “Is he the man from your room?” she asks me. I stare. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re a terrible liar.”
What I wish to say is that the world would be much improved if she shut her mouth and never opened it again. Yet Harper looks at me, and she sees, and she knows.
Zephyrus drifts a few steps away before turning to face off with Harper. He stands a handspan taller, though she does not appear cowed in the slightest. “And if I was in Brielle’s room? What are you going to do, novitiate?”
My stomach bottoms out, a sudden free falling without end.
Her grin stretches so wide I’m surprised cracks do not split her cheeks. “So you admit you two are involved ?”
“No!” I cry, stumbling forward. “You are misreading the situation. We are definitely not involved. I hardly know him.”
That harsh smile chisels deeper into her features, a hunger sharpening the elegant bones of her face.
“I discovered Zephyrus injured in the forest,” I stammer, “and I took him back to the abbey for healing. He’s a man, I know, but I couldn’t leave him to die. He used my room for rest. That’s all. Once he recovered, he left.”
“You’re forgetting the most important part of the story,” the West Wind drawls, peering at me through lowered lashes. “Don’t be shy. Tell your friend how we crossed into Under together.”
Harper gasps, a hand flying to her mouth.
I whirl on Zephyrus. “Say nothing more.”
“You went to Under with him ?” And then she halts, realization darkening her eyes. “That’s where you disappeared to last month. You know who this is, right?”
“He is the West Wind,” I state.
“And I imagine the title means nothing to you. Are you aware of his reputation?”
I’m unable to shield my confusion. Reputation?
Harper laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful, absolutely wonderful. It proves everything I have ever thought about you, Brielle. What a fool you are. What a stupid fool.”
My teeth grind together as hot, familiar shame washes through me. Perhaps she is right. I trust too blindly. But why and how would she know him if she has never met him before? I’m obviously missing something.
Harper tsks. “Imagine what Mother Mabel will say when she learns how you have erred.”
Imagine what she will do.
Mother Mabel could send me from Thornbrook. This I know. Venturing into Under is one thing, but bringing a man into the Father’s sanctuary would be seen as an act of disloyalty to Him and to my faith.
“Are you going to tell her?” My throat strains.
Harper picks at her nails. “I haven’t decided. I suppose it doesn’t matter if you get the sword before me. Once Mother Mabel learns of your deception, you will never be allowed the honor of ascension anyway.”
That is true, which is why I must find the mythical sword first. If I can bring it to Mother Mabel, might she extend to me mercy for having momentarily strayed?
“Are you looking for Meirlach?” Zephyrus asks curiously.
“We are.” Harper considers him with a sidelong glance. “What of it?”
His mouth curves. It is too sly, as is everything else about him. “I am acquainted with the Stallion and his Grotto.” He slowly peruses her body, boots to waist to scowling features. When their eyes meet, Harper quirks a brow. “I can take you there,” he says.
The queasy drop in my stomach sends me forward a step. “We don’t need your help. We know where we’re going.”
“Do you?” He turns from Harper. “Let me guess. You’ve been using a map of some sort, only it has failed to lead you belowground.”
Harper’s cold glare cuts to me, as though I am to blame. “We have,” she says to Zephyrus. “It didn’t work.”
He chortles as if to say, Of course not , and winks at Harper. It doesn’t escape my notice. “We can use one of the Wells to enter.”
She stares at him. “Wells?”
Now I’m certain Harper has not read a page of the Text in her life. “The Wells of Past, Present, and Future,” I tell her. “They are mentioned in the Book of Origin, when the Father sought healing from their purifying waters.”
The West Wind dips his chin. “Indeed. According to the fair folk, their ancestors built those wells with their own hands.”
I cross my arms, then drop them. There is no mention of the fair folk in the Book of Origin. It likely isn’t true. Regardless, we don’t need his help. I tell him as much.
He shrugs. “It would be a shame for you to travel all that way, only to be barred from Under. You of all people know the danger in venturing below without a guide. Step off the grassy path, and who knows what dangers await.”
Harper’s frosty gaze swings to mine. “Is this true?” Her voice cracks out so forcefully I flinch.
“Yes,” I say, “but we can’t trust him.”
At this, the West Wind’s smile deepens. Pleased by my distress? The man is too twisted a creature. “Do you not think that the presence of a man would help you on your travels? The fair folk do love their maidens, after all.”
Harper blanches. “He travels with us.”
“You know nothing about him,” I hiss.
“I know more than you do. You know nothing, period.” She flounces nearer to the West Wind. “I’d rather take my chances with him than with those”—she waves a hand toward the carcasses—“creatures.”
Grudgingly, I agree. But Zephyrus is a man whose danger lies in what he conceals, not what is evident. Harper does not know what lurks beneath his polished veneer. His company will lead to little good.
“I would be an excellent asset,” he states, striding a few paces away to lean against a tree, one ankle tossed over the other. “Do you know how to reach the Grotto?”
Mother Mabel gave me directions from the nymph-guarded entrance. Unfortunately, those instructions have been rendered useless.
At my fuming silence, his mouth stretches a touch wider. “I am familiar with the unsavory areas of Under. I have connections, debts to be called in that would get us out of a bind quickly. You would not be without protection.”
“What can you offer us? Pretty words?” Disdain drips readily from my tongue. “I am unimpressed.”
“I assure you, my talents extend beyond what I can do with my mouth.” His eyes darken, and my heart leaps for reasons unknown.
Lifting one hand, he flicks his fingers a few times, sending currents of air to stir our dresses, the fine strands of our hair. I watch a tendril of wind pluck a leaf from the highest branch of an oak tree, then tuck it behind my ear.
Satisfied, Zephyrus drops his arm. “They do not call me the West Wind for nothing.”
Harper stares in open-mouthed wonder. I touch the leaf with a quavering hand, questioning all that came before this moment. Zephyrus never gave any indication of harboring any great power, aside from the ability to irk me to no end. I feel foolish for having failed to figure it out sooner. Such power would be useful on our journey. An extra set of eyes couldn’t hurt either.
“What do you want in exchange for helping us?” I say, because Zephyrus’ help will not come free.
He appears to ponder the question, though based on how readily he answers, he likely already had a response prepared. “Consider this my debt repaid to you, Brielle. However, if it’s not too much to ask, when we reach the Grotto, I would like to go in with you.”
That ridiculous debt. But… fine. “Why can’t you enter yourself?” If he already knows its location, why go with us into the Grotto?
“The Grotto is protected by the Stallion, and he only welcomes mortal women into his place of rest.”
“But you’re not a mortal woman,” Harper points out.
His mouth quirks. “No, my dear. I am not. The Stallion is blind. I can manipulate the air so your scent would mask my presence.”
Harper and I exchange a look. The quickest way to Under is through Zephyrus, but I don’t trust his motives. What, exactly, does he seek?
“What are you looking for? And be specific.”
He stares at me for a time. “A prize that would change my life. Surely you cannot blame a man for helping himself?”
“That depends. What is the prize?” Is it dangerous? Detrimental to our health?
“I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information.”
I consider him, the bright eyes and unsightly features. How convenient that he is unable to reveal his motive. But I will not knock on a door that refuses to open. I have learned that lesson too many times. There was no better teacher than my mother, who would not change no matter how many times I begged.
It is then I realize I have been staring too long at his mouth, for the West Wind’s attention kindles with sudden intrigue. I quickly look elsewhere. “How long will this take?” I demand. In Under, time stretches and bends, and I fear we will spend months underground without realizing it. “We must return to Thornbrook before the tithe.”
“I cannot guarantee a timeline, as you know. The more willingly you follow, however, the less time we waste.”
He offers little reassurance, and yet, what choice do we have?
I look to Harper, who observes the West Wind with thinly veiled hunger, as though he is something to covet. My stomach twists with an emotion I do not recognize. She would follow this immortal, deaf and blind, into danger, yet she does not even thank me for saving her life?
“Harper,” I say, trying to reclaim her attention. Though her mouth pinches in distaste, she turns to me. “I really think we should reconsider.”
“The decision has been made, Brielle. If you want to stay behind, that’s your choice.”
“Perhaps,” Zephyrus counters with a raised brow at my traveling companion, “but I do want to take Brielle’s opinion into consideration.”
Harper shoots me a murderous glare. If I oppose, she will likely claw my eyes from my face. I know we need Zephyrus’ help. I just don’t want to accept it.
“Let him do what he wants,” I snap, hitching my pack onto my shoulders and striding past them. “I care not.”