Chapter 9 #2
One of the many perks of finishing Asylamation is that upon completion, we’re issued proper clothing for the harsh temperatures of the northern mountains.
I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of miss home.
I’d give anything to feel the rays of the sun warming my cheeks right now.
I can almost taste the salt from the ocean on my tongue and hear the seagulls squawking overhead.
“I’ve never heard it put quite so eloquently before, but yeah, it certainly is,” I breathe.
“Alright, let’s go before our asses freeze off.”
“Finnley, has anyone ever told you you’ve got a way with words?”
“All the time,” he says in a serious tone. His eyes, however, are filled with humor.
Uneven, huge stone blocks line the path ahead, and after tripping multiple times, we learn to keep our eyes on the ground as much as possible.
Thick bands of ivy coat the walls and portions of the walkway.
Even in the frigid temperatures, it’s spread like a disease, overtaking everything in its path.
Dead brown leaves mix in with bright-green ones as if they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to thrive and take over or wither away in final peace.
Opaque clouds move quickly overhead, the only reminder that life is carrying on outside of the confinement of these walls. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the endless corridors and the quietude of this place as if nothing else exists.
I wonder if Mallory and Mayline have made it out yet. Are they still wandering through the winding pathways of their selection? Is Ambrose at the finish line patiently waiting for us to emerge? Is he worried about me? How about I be a little more wrapped up in someone I clearly shouldn’t be?
It was so much easier when hormones weren’t involved, and he was just my best friend. Not the man I think I’m in love with and constantly lusting over. I never imagined myself as the simpering female in someone else’s story.
Yet here I am. Simpin’.
It’s pathetic, really. I know this, truly I do, but I still can’t turn it off.
The sound of water greets us as we turn around a sharp corner and come to a bridgehead.
A Gothic bridge made of burnished stone, supported by medieval-looking arcs, sits directly in front of us.
The entire thing is covered in an abundance of half-dead ivy that surrounds us, sprinkled with bits of moss.
It could almost be described as beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. Entrancing even.
Finnley inches closer to the edge, peering down into the murky dark waters. “I don’t even want to know what could be in that water.”
“Let’s not stick around to find out. Best to keep moving.”
“Watch the overgrowth where you step. I’m fond of you and all, but I really don’t want to have to jump in after you.”
“Says the man who’s tripped multiple times so far,” I tease, grabbing onto his bicep and pulling him from the edge before I’m the one who has to jump in after him.
“Oh stop, you just want a reason to touch my muscles,” he says through that permanent smirk he wears like armor.
“Finnley, your muscles are not the ones I think about touching,” I shoot back while jumping up and rubbing the top of his head.
I’d feel bad about messing up his beautiful curls if they weren’t already in disarray from his own hands.
At my transgression, his hair falls over his brow in curly chaos, giving him the look of a fallen angel.
I can see why the ladies fawn over him. He definitely has that sensual appeal.
I just prefer the more deviant tendencies in my men as opposed to the divine ones.
I turn back toward the bridge, acknowledging we’re going to have to cross it regardless of what’s below.
I step forward and quickly but carefully walk out onto it, not waiting for the argument that I know will come from behind me when he realizes I’m taking the initiative to go first. Ivy crunches under my boot, the only sound in the vast cavern.
And that’s exactly what this is—a cavern of some sort. The ceiling is open to the sky, but aside from the intricate bridge and the water beneath, it’s surrounded by stone walls. It is huge, though. The bridge itself will take some time to cross, especially with the added risk of the overgrowth.
Finnley catches up to me quicker than I anticipated and glares at me, narrowing his eyes in disapproval. I raise my shoulders and put my palms in the air. I don’t apologize in the least.
We walk side by side, only stopping here and there to move a branch out of our way or to peer over the edge to confirm there isn’t any movement in the murky green waters below us. So far, not even a ripple.
There’s just us walking across the bridge, tension an unwelcome guest, sitting heavily on our shoulders, waiting for the other shoe to drop because thus far, it’s been too fucking easy. If life has taught me one thing, it’s that nothing is ever this easy.
I crouch down and duck through an archway that has crumbled through time. Finnley practically has to get on all fours and crawl to be able to fit. Slowly, I stand and wipe my hands together to remove as much of the dirt and dead leaves as possible.
Brushing the wayward hairs from my eyes, I look toward Finnley as he finally gets through the smallest portion of the collapse and can stand.
He makes a quick effort to wipe the grit from his hands and knees and looks up to say something to me, but before he can utter the first syllable, he locks in on something behind me.
His entire body goes stiff. His hands curl into fists at his side, and I can see his visible gulp from where I’m standing.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Slowly, not being able to hold off the inevitable, I turn my head and look in the same direction that he’s looking. There’s nothing there except the remainder of the bridge.
I turn back to face him. “Finnley…” I question.
He doesn’t take his eyes off whatever he’s looking at. “Do you see what I’m seeing right now?” he asks so low that I can barely hear him. His eyes are wide and panicked.
This is the first time in the entire Asylamation I’ve seen this expression on his face.
Fear.
I turn my head to look again, but I don’t see anything. Just overgrowth and stone. I take careful steps back over to him, walking over broken fragments of rock and slippery moss. I pick up his hand, threading our fingers together.
“I don’t see anything. Are you feeling alright?” I ask, using the back of my other hand to feel his forehead.
“It’s looking right at us,” he whispers, still staring at whatever it is he thinks he sees. I don’t think he’s blinked this entire time.
I squeeze his hand tighter. “There’s nothing there, Finnley, it’s just this place messing with you.”
“Nori, get behind me, and whatever happens, protect your face.”
Protect your face.
I can feel the color drain from the very face he’s instructing me to protect.
I let my eyes roam over his, looking for any hint of a smile or indication he’s messing with me.
There’s nothing. Not a single trace of his usual playful nature.
It’s as if I’m looking at a version of Finnley I haven’t seen before.
The one he hides under his mischievous guise.
The one with secrets and suffering that he doesn’t share.
The real Finnley. And there’s only one thing in this realm he would instruct me specifically to protect my face from.
The only thing I’d have to shield my mouth from… the thing that devours souls.
Wraiths.
I swallow down the saliva coating the inside of my mouth, drop his hands, and turn to stare back at the spot his determined glare is pinned to.
Nothing. There’s nothing there and certainly not a wraith.
A lump forms in my throat.
He’s losing his mind. Delirious possibly.
We haven’t had anything to drink or eat in I don’t know how long. There’s no sense of time in here. Maybe he’s just dehydrated.
“There’s nothing there, Finnley. I swear to you. You’re just not yourself right now.”
He moves his gaze toward me, his pale eyes narrowing. “I’m not crazy, Nori.”
I squeeze his arm. “I never said you were.”
He drags his eyes forward again, his mouth now pulled into a harsh line.
“I believe you,” I promise. And I do. If he thinks he sees something, then I believe he does in his own mind.
“We’re at a disadvantage without weapons, and fighting our way out on a narrow bridge isn’t going to be easy,” he warns.
I close my eyes and blow out a breath. Ambrose told me to hide the dagger and keep it a secret, but I can’t not tell Finnley. Especially right now when he thinks we’re in a dire situation about to fight for our lives. It feels wrong to keep it from him.
“Actually, we do have one weapon,” I offer, lifting my shoulders in a shrug.
He glances at me, brows drawn. “The academy hasn’t issued any yet. What are you talking about?”
“Well, yes, that’s technically corre—’’
“Nori, get behind me,” he orders while grabbing onto my sleeve and shoving me roughly behind his back. “It’s coming.” He spreads his feet wide and raises his arms, fists clenched in a fighting stance.
Cautiously, I peer around him.
Yep. Still nothing. Finnley is about to fight absolutely nothing.
At this point, I’m doubting my bright idea of handing over a dagger to him. I’m not sure he’s stable enough to be handling weapons at the moment.
He bends his knees slightly like he’s about to throw his entire body into the attack. “Stay back,” he orders.
I reach for his shirt to try to anchor him to reality, but he’s already pushing forward.
His steps are cautious but urgent. No longer watching the ground or sidestepping dead foliage, he walks forward with resolve.
His steps are deliberate, and his body rigid.
He doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following his orders like a good little soldier.
I am, though.
I haven’t moved a step.