Chapter 50
Flint
The Greenwood is on fire.
Flames lick up the sides of trees, burning leaves to ash, rising taller and hotter. Smoke spreads through the gloom, forcing itself down my throat. Terror sinks its talons into me, pinning me to the spot. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
A ragged scream tears from my mouth as a blazing sapling snaps in two and falls to the ground, igniting the carpet of moss. I screw my good eye shut as I choke and gasp, my heart thundering so hard it could burst through my chest.
The forest is filled with the sound of my nightmares – the snarling, snapping crackle of fire, threatening to devour me.
No.
A surge of adrenaline rips through me, and I realize I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die like this.
I stagger to my feet and collide hard with the thick trunk of the fruit tree.
My limbs seem to be working one step faster than my brain, for I’m already climbing, my bow slung across my back, scrabbling desperately for footholds, grabbing branches and heaving myself up.
Smoke rises with me, obstructing my vision even further.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see that the forest floor is now entirely ablaze. Panic lodges in my stomach, scratching my insides.
There’s no way down, but the trees in the Greenwood grow so closely together they almost intertwine. If I could just manage to swing myself into a neighbouring tree …
A blast of heat billows upward, engulfing me, and my foot slips. There’s a wrenching in my shoulder socket as my whole body lurches.
I dangle helplessly from a branch, just metres above the inferno.
My palms are slick with sweat. I feel myself sliding.
‘Flint.’
Over the roaring flames I hear my name. His voice is a winter’s breeze, crisp and inviting, and I hold on to it even as I lose my grip.
I fall down, down, down, and flames swallow me whole.
I’m burning alive, writhing in agony as the flesh melts from my bones. The world is nothing but smoke and suffering. Death will be a kindness. I welcome it with open arms.
‘Flint!’
Cool hands cup my face.
‘Flint, listen to me. Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real. You’re hallucinating.’
And suddenly, as quick as a finger-snap, the pain recedes. The blazing heat evaporates, followed by the deafening crackling.
I open my eye to find that the flames are gone, leaving no trace behind. The Greenwood is just as gloomy and empty as ever, except for –
‘You,’ I breathe.
Sheen scans my face, his throat bobbing anxiously, his white-blonde hair tousled and streaked with dirt. I lie flat on my back, staring up at him, shaken and bewildered.
He breaks his gaze, glancing up at the fruit tree. His tone is teasing, yet for once free of malice. ‘Got a little hungry, did we?’
That’s when I put it together. ‘The fruit,’ I croak.
He nods. ‘It’s hallucinogenic. I’ve heard it forces those who eat it to relive their greatest fear.’ There’s a pause. ‘You were screaming. What … what did you see?’
My mouth goes dry. My skin smarts. Sheen’s face blurs out of focus.
Can I really admit the truth? Can I say it out loud? This secret I have kept hidden – a source of shame and torment and self-loathing so visceral it rips me apart from the inside.
My voice is barely a whisper. Even the word burns.
‘Fire.’
That’s when the tremors take hold. My whole body begins to convulse, wracked with awful, jerking shudders. I gasp as my airways constrict.
Panic descends, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
‘Flint?’ Sheen looks stricken.
‘Can’t … breathe …’
He slides an arm under me and props me up. I’m shaking uncontrollably, fingers bunched in his shirt, knuckles white. There’s a crushing weight pressing on my chest. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to catch my breath.
‘Breathe with me,’ Sheen orders, placing one hand on the back of my neck to keep it steady. ‘Like this, see?’ He inhales, long and deep. ‘Now you.’
Rasping, choking sounds escape my lips. ‘I … can’t …’
‘You can,’ he says. ‘It’s going to be all right. It’ll pass. I’ve got you. Just breathe.’
Tears sting my face. I grit my teeth and do as he says. The tightness eases somewhat, loosening with each jagged drag of air.
I begin to count.
His heartbeats.
The scatter of tiny freckles I’ve rarely been close enough to notice.
His eyelashes – every single one.
And when I finish counting, I can finally breathe again.
Sheen doesn’t let go of me and I don’t want him to. My bones feel brittle. My head aches – a dull pounding throb.
His brow is crumpled with concern. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Since the third trial,’ I admit, my voice hoarse.
He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘How could I?’ I demand, suddenly defensive. ‘How could I admit that Flint Flameborn is terrified of fire?’
Sheen’s face softens. It’s remarkable how different he looks – how unguarded.
‘Only, in the Ridge tunnels …’ I swallow hard. ‘I have no explanation for that explosion, other than it was fuelled by a desperation to save my sister. Except, it felt so … Well, that’s just it. I didn’t feel anything. It was almost as if …’
‘As if?’ Sheen prompts.
‘As if the fire wasn’t mine at all. Of course – it must’ve been. It’s not like Blaze conjured those flames.’ I let out a shaky laugh, which soon peters out. ‘I … I’ve always been so self-assured. But now I don’t know who I am any more. I don’t even recognize myself.’
A strained silence falls and I instantly regret my words.
Then Sheen says, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘For what happened to you.’
My throat tightens. Most people assume it’s best never to mention it, as if treating me the same as before could somehow counteract the fact that I am forever changed. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words until he said them.
‘Do you want to stand up?’ Sheen asks.
I nod and let him pull me to my feet. The transition is dizzying. I stumble, and he catches me by the shoulders.
‘I’m fine,’ I lie.
Sheen raises an eyebrow. ‘No, you’re not. But we shouldn’t have far to walk.’
My jaw drops. ‘You mean …’
‘When I left, I marked a path. Dryads are pesky things, but they can be outsmarted. By some of us, that is,’ he adds wryly. ‘The treeline lies a little over a mile from here.’
Relief floods through me. We did it. Or rather, he did it. I was too busy having an existential crisis and consuming hallucinogenic fruit.
The ghost of a flame skims my skin. I shiver. What might’ve happened if Sheen hadn’t found me? Would I still be trapped in that nightmare, burning to death in my mind?
I open my mouth to thank him, but instead I say, ‘You came back.’
He nods, a little stiffly. ‘I should never have left.’
I look up into his face, for once not opposed to our notable height difference. In spite of everything, a smile tugs at my lips. ‘I didn’t hallucinate that kiss too, did I?’
Sheen clears his throat uncomfortably, his expression slightly pained. I’d always assumed it was because he couldn’t stand being so close to me. I expect I was right on that count, only not for the reasons I imagined.
He moves to step back, but I don’t release my grip, suddenly struck by the strangest feeling that as soon as we leave this place he’ll disappear.
This version of him, anyway. And I’m not ready to let go just yet.
What would he do, I wonder, if I moved closer?
What would I do if he leaned into me? I’m loath to admit it, but I’m more than a little intrigued.
Slowly I drop my gaze to his lips.
At that moment there’s a crashing sound, followed by a shrill voice. ‘Flint! Sheen! Oh, thank the Gods.’
We spring apart mere seconds before Spinner bursts through the trees.
Her shirt is ripped as though she’s caught it on one too many branches, and there are a number of twigs and leaves sticking out of her hair.
She makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh and then launches herself into my arms. Before I know it she’s kissing me.
My hands move instinctively, sliding round her waist, but my eye remains open, fixed on Sheen.
I watch his expression shutter, then smooth over, growing distant and unreadable.
And although he doesn’t walk away this time, I find myself thinking, He’s gone.