Chapter 47
My knees hit the hard ice as I land, but the sound is muted and the impact is softened by thick padding. It’s not just my location that has changed; it’s also my clothes.
White furs cover my arms, my legs are encased in dark brown leather trousers, and furred boots are on my feet. My stomach roils. These are the clothes of the Issen. Why the hell am I in the clothes of the Issen?
‘Rettlings, welcome to the third trial.’
High Priestess Mila stands on a podium ten feet in front of us. She’s wearing a fur-lined version of a priestess’s robe, so thick it holds itself inches from her body.
‘You may be asking yourself where you are,’ she says. ‘Well, let me ease your curiosity. You are on the edges of Follen Lake.’
Follen Lake? Is she for real? That’s at least a five-day journey on horseback, if not longer. The amount of magic they must have used to get us here by portation is staggering.
Even dressed as I am, being wrenched from the warmth of the dining room to the aching cold here is shocking.
My hands are covered with thick white gloves, but it doesn’t stop the tingle of ice from reaching my fingers.
I close them around my mouth and try to breathe heat into them, but the temperature is so cold that the plume of breath nearly freezes in front of me.
This is as far north as I have ever been and it is the site of the battle where the Morathkians pushed the Issen back so they could save the land that wasn’t already frozen by their dark ice magic.
The story of Follen Lake is one every child across the kingdom knows, but it’s not a tale of total victory.
The Morathkians believed they were on solid ground, only for the Issen to melt the very ground beneath their feet.
Thousands of men plummeted into the water below, clawing helplessly at the sheet of ice that trapped them in what became their icy graves.
Were it not for the grace of Etta and the strength of our magic, all would have perished.
But by the Gods’ mercy, enough soldiers were saved to drive the Issen back to their lands behind the Coltan Mountains.
‘Your trial is simple,’ Mila continues, her smile sharp. ‘You merely have to cross this section of the lake.’
She gestures with her arm to the section in question, but there’s nothing to be seen but dense fog, ice, and snow. It’s going to be slippery.
The ice is probably thinner in places, and I suspect that the real challenge will be stopping ourselves from plunging into the freezing water.
I knew water would come into play at some point, but freezing water where I could get trapped under the ice?
I shudder involuntarily.
‘There is no time limit,’ she continues. ‘When the last living Rettling crosses to the other side, the trial will be over.’
Okay, so she definitely thinks some of us are going to die. Great.
‘Use whatever powers you have at your disposal. Nothing is prohibited. I may or may not see you on the other side. Etta’s blessings on you all.’
Like that, she’s gone.
None of us move. Or at least, no one that I can see.
We were spread out when they brought us here, all spaced about twenty-five feet apart.
To my right, I can see Oke, and beyond her is Mattieu.
Of course, those two get to be together.
Mattieu is wearing the same furs and leathers as I am, whereas Oke is dressed in the furs of the standard Morathkian army uniform.
I press my hand against my thighs, hoping that by some miracle my dagger is concealed somewhere in my uniform, but all I find is a single nondescript blade. Still, I take it out and arm myself.
The cold air hitches in my breath when I see Kyor to my left.
But there’s still no sign of Llinos, Benny, or Jonas.
In a trial where I need powers, I’m away from the only people I’m certain will offer me help.
Still, I edge towards the prince. I don’t know what is happening between us, but I know he’s powerful, and right now his magic might be the only thing to save me.
‘Any idea what we should do?’ I ask Kyor when I reach him. His army uniform is the same as the one Oke wears, but it fits him so perfectly I wouldn’t be surprised if he insisted he had fully tailored attire. ‘Since you’re the military leader and everything.’
‘No one ever comes to Follen Lake.’ He looks pale, his thumbs pressing into his palms in agitation. It makes my own stomach lurch. If even Kyor is nervous, then I’m truly fucked.
‘What are you like at holding mental wards?’ he asks.
I look at him flatly. ‘No magic, remember?’
He nods. ‘Right. Maybe that will help you. Just get your body across the finish line. You can worry about your mind afterwards.’
‘I didn’t figure you as someone for riddles,’ I reply as a gust of wind pushes the fog across the lake and causes fear to creep up my spine.
‘I’m not. Trust me.’
He’s opening his mouth to say more when a scream tears through the air.
‘What was that?’ I scour the area around me, but the fog is too dense and I can’t see much past where Oke stands.
‘Someone stepped on the ice. My guess is they woke the spirits. If you want to finish this thing, there’s only one way: make it to the other side.’ Kyor meets my eyes and his blue gaze pierces me. ‘Just keep walking, Thorn. I’ll stay as close as I can.’
With that, he takes his first step onto the ice.
Fifty feet away, Oke does the same.
I wasn’t going to be the first, not after hearing that scream, but I don’t want to be the last either, so I draw in a deep breath and take my first step.
Any ideas I had of sprinting ahead vanish.
The ice is slick and wet, meaning running will likely leave me face-planting and easy prey.
And that’s being optimistic. If I hit a patch of thin ice, it’ll be game over.
I adopt a method of lifting my foot as little as possible and sliding forward, and I feel like I’m actually making some progress when it starts.
At first, I assume it’s the wind. A low rumbling, quiet and distant. But it grows closer, sharper, turning into a growl. Even though I can’t see where it’s coming from, my fists clench, ready to strike out the only way I can.
I’m still edging forward, scouring the desolate landscape, now dotted with distant figures, when the first shriek of pain hits me.
It’s not just a random cry. It’s the cry of someone being killed.
Murdered. The sound carries over the ice, allowing me to hear the blood filling their lungs as the blade is withdrawn from their sternum.
I feel the pain in my own body as if it’s real, yet when I look down, there’s nothing.
Nothing but the white furs and brown leather I’m dressed in.
‘Your punishment is long overdue,’ a voice snarls at me. ‘I will take great pride in your death.’ I spin around, searching for the source of the threat, but there’s no one there. The voice is inside my head, I realise, like the voice during the attack at the ball.
It’s not real, I tell myself.
I drop my hands onto my knees, trying to focus on what is real. What I can see. What I can touch. As my head remains quiet, I try to steady my breathing. What was it Kyor said? Worry about my mind later? Well, at least I know what he was talking about now.
Both he and Oke are ahead of me, and though Oke has her hands pressed to her forehead as she inches forward, Kyor walks with his hands behind his back. It’s a far cry from the way he normally approaches challenges, but it’s obviously working.
‘Your blood will feed the land of the old one,’ a voice wails as another scream cuts through the icy air. This time the voice is loud enough to make me clasp the sides of my head in agony.
I clench my teeth. ‘You’re just in my head.’ I’m not sure if I’m whispering or whimpering. ‘You’re just in my head.’
‘Am I?’
In front of me, cloudy figures emerge, taking on corporeal form. Hundreds upon hundreds. We are walking through their battleground, the land and ice on which they lost their lives, and we are paying the price for it.
To the left of me, I see one of the white fur-covered figures heading straight for Kyor, his sword raised, ready to strike.
‘Kyor! Watch out!’ I stand transfixed as he turns to look at me. ‘No!’
The Issen’s sword swoops down towards the prince and the air rushes from my lungs as the scream leaves me. But Kyor doesn’t fall to the ground, and there’s not a drop of blood as the Issen blade carries on through him.
Blue eyes hold mine. ‘They’re not real, Thorn. Just remember that.’
‘They look fucking real. And they sound it, too.’
He nods. For once, there’s no hint of a smirk on his lips.
‘I know. Keep moving. Get to the finish line,’ he repeats before twisting around and continuing.
‘They’re not real,’ I mutter. ‘And what’s not real can’t hurt you.’ Physically, I correct myself. Mentally, I’m not so sure. Kyor’s comment still lingers, but I’ll do as he advises and worry about my mind later.
More and more warriors appear, shifting into existence through the snow and ice. Not just Issen, but Morathkians, too, still clad in their uniforms. The same uniforms Kyor and Oke are wearing.
So that’s why they chose to dress us like this. So we can’t tell the apparitions of the Morathkians and Issen apart from our fellow Rettlings. It’s sick.
‘You are a traitor,’ a voice rolls through my head. ‘Your blood is tainted.’
Two of the warriors begin fighting in front of me and their voices are at full volume in my head, their rage, their agony, their thirst for vengeance consuming me.
It’s hard to believe it’s not real when I can hear them, can feel the metal clashing through my bones, sense the warmth of their breath against my skin.
I can’t even be halfway across the lake yet. How the hell am I going to make it all the way?
Willing to try anything, I close my eyes, praying that I don’t step onto any thin ice. But while walking that way removes the images from in front of me, it increases the noise.
The cries. The pain. It all echoes off the distant mountains and reverberates through the very marrow of my bones. They’re dying. They’re dying all around me. And I have nothing to help them. No magic. No weapons strong enough. No way out.
I just need some respite. Some quiet. Anything to give me a moment’s peace.
If I could just stop the sound, would that be enough?
Yes.
Maybe.
Maybe it would work.
But how?
For the first time since I stepped onto the ice, I remember the knife in my hand. It’s not as pretty as the dagger from Dinah, but it should work perfectly. I tip my head to the side and lift the blade.
‘Thorn! Fucking hell! No!’
The pain across my face is completely different from the internal pain I was feeling. The echo of the slap continues to sting my skin as I blink my eyes, suddenly aware that my hand is now empty, though I can barely remember what it was holding before.
All I can focus on is Kyor standing in front of me, fear filling his face.
He slapped me, brought me out of …
I realise then what I was about to do with the blade they gave me. I was going to slice my own throat.
‘I was going to … I just wanted it to stop …’ I whisper. My throat dries as the reality of what I was about to do sinks in.
Kyor stopped me. He saved my life.
‘I know. You’re okay now.’ He bends down and picks up the dagger. ‘Maybe I should hold on to this, though? I’ve got a little more experience than you.’
‘More experience with spirits trying to make you kill yourself?’ I ask.
‘No, being surrounded by death.’
My heart clenches for him.
Our gazes are still locked when a scream jolts my attention away. This one wasn’t in my head.
‘Mattieu, stop. Stop!’ Oke shouts. Her friend is trying to battle spirits clad in the Morathkian uniform, but his usual precision is missing as he hurls blast after blast of fire into the air, with no chance of meeting a target.
His magic is worse than useless – it’s dangerous.
We are on an ice-covered lake and every blast of fire he sends out weakens the thin layer between us and the icy depths.
‘Mattieu, stop!’ Oke calls again, but he’s not listening.
I can’t move, too transfixed by terror. Not for me, but for them.
Abandoning her screaming pleas, Oke moves towards him. But she’s dressed in the uniform of the very spectres Mattieu is trying to defeat, and it’s very possible he won’t realise that she’s real. She’ll get herself killed.
But that’s on her, isn’t it? It’s not like she hasn’t tried to kill me countless times. My mind is a cacophony of conflicting emotions. Can I let her die? Can I let anyone die when I have a chance to save them?
‘I need to get her out of there,’ I say to Kyor.
‘You can’t. She’ll kill you. This is their fate, not yours.’
‘They can’t die like this. This isn’t fair. This isn’t a fight. It’s torture.’
‘Thorn, don’t do this.’
He grabs my arm, but somehow I slip from his grasp.
I don’t have a choice. Etta’s the Goddess of Life, and right now, I won’t let any life be taken like this. Better to be defeated by a giant or a dire wolf than by a friend whose mind is gone. Besides, Kyor didn’t need to save me, and yet he did. He did the right thing, and so will I.
‘Oke, no! No!’ I cry.
The voices are creeping back into my head, but I fight against them. I can only fight one battle at a time, and right now, they’re not mine. Saving Oke is. ‘Oke! You can’t save him. You can’t save him. You’ll get yourself killed. Please!’
She offers me only the briefest glance before turning back to Mattieu, just in time to watch him plunge a knife into his own stomach.