22. Nyx #2
A gnarly gash across his chest leaks thick rivulets of blood, and several other smaller injuries pepper his extremities, but he ignores them.
Shouldering past his men, he limps to the mouth of the tunnel, gazing out at the massive cavern. The roots have settled back against the walls, but I can still see them shifting, waiting to attack.
“Does anyone have any ideas on how to get to the pit?”
Silence.
Letting out a breath, I step to the edge, being careful not to come within striking distance of the roots. I look down, noticing a bare line of wall that circles the entire cavern, about two feet above the canopy line. Huh…
“We’ll have to jump down and travel through the forest.”
“Won’t the roots try to attack us down there?” Vhalthor demands.
“Perhaps… but I think just like the tunnel, they can’t actually go into the forest.” I point out the blank space above the canopy to him.
“Suppose you are wrong?” Vhalthor narrows his eyes, crossing his arms over his burly chest. “Suppose they can reach into the forest, and they are just choosing not to currently?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Even if they can, we will have a better chance of avoiding them with the cover of the trees instead of flying into open air.”
"Fine." Vhalthor’s lips thin as a wall of stone closes over his expression. I realize then he’s trying not to show his fear to his men. "I will go first."
Without waiting, Vhalthor steps off the ledge, wings tucked tight against his back, dropping like a stone rather than gliding out into the open.
Sensing his presence, the roots peel off the walls and chase him through hundreds of feet of open air. My hands curl into fists as I watch, praying to all the gods that my theory was correct.
Vhalthor crashes through the canopy, disappearing, and the roots stop dead a few feet above the treetops. They coil in the air, lashing out in anger when they realize they can go no farther.
My knees tremble. I let out a shaky breath, allowing my fists to relax.
“Okay,” I say. “Who’s next?”
Dutifully, Vhalthor’s soldiers step forward, their expressions twisting with fear and determination. They drop off the ledge in waves, narrowly dodging the lashing roots. Just like before, they are thwarted at that invisible line, and the soldiers fall beneath the safety of the canopy.
Dagny looks at her mates. Some silent conversation passes between the seven of them, then they jump and disappear into the trees just like everyone else.
Dravik pulls Willow tight against his chest, one arm locked under her, the other braced across her back. “Hold on to me, my heart. Do not let go.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Willow’s throat works around a swallow. “Let’s get this over with.”
Rhune and I move to Cin, who is blankly staring at a wall. Rhune takes one arm, I take the other, and we haul him toward the edge with his feet dragging behind him.
With one last look over his shoulder, Dravik jumps, and we follow half a second behind him. The wind screams past my ears and whips at my exposed skin. The roots, filled with rage and hunger, strike at us from all sides, desperate to snatch us up.
I pull Cin's dead weight closer, at the same time angling my wing to shield Rhune’s head. One of the roots grazes my wing, and a searing pain spreads through me, causing a scream to build in my throat.
I let it out as the canopy swallows us up.
Branches crack and snap against my shoulders, the sound muffling my pained moans. I hit the frozen ground hard, my arm falling from Cin as I crash to my knees, agony flaring through every inch of my body. Gods, if that root managed to hit Rhune’s head… I’m not sure he would have survived.
The pain in my wing doesn’t ease. It simmers—a raging wildfire into a low, constant burn. It makes it hard to breathe and difficult to remember where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Nyx… your wing…” Willow’s voice shakes with horror, and I’m suddenly glad I can’t see the state of it. I think that would make it worse.
I’m vaguely aware of Rhune’s palm, of his healing magic sinking beneath his skin. “Stupid, stupid Nyx.”
“Had to… protect you…” The pain is making me tired, and it’s increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open and focused. “Would have killed you.”
Rhune shakes his head, pink eyes shining with so much emotion it makes my chest ache. “You are a good brother. But you are still stupid.”
I bark a weak laugh. “Says the one who always sacrifices himself for others' well-being.”
Rhune frowns. “It is my job.”
“Yeah, well, it was my job to protect you this time.” I pull my mouth into a weak grin. “Consider us even.”
“No more talking,” Dravik orders, placing his palm on my shoulder. “Save your strength. Focus on healing.”
I nod, too tired to argue. Closing my eyes, I relax onto the hard ground, focusing on Rhune’s healing magic flowing through me rather than the horrible agony throbbing in my wing.
A while later, when it feels like I’ll be able to move without passing out, I try sitting up.
My vision swims, but I’m successful, and I think once I get used to the lingering pain, I will be able to push through.
I’m still too scared to look at my wing, and by the expression on Rhune’s face, I’d be wise to hold off. But at least I am in one piece.
“Thank you, Rhune.” I ease his hands away. “I’m okay now.”
“I should heal you some more—”
“You need your strength as much as I do,” I grunt as I slowly rise. “More than me, now. I’m useless if we need to fly anywhere. You need to be able to protect Willow.”
He whines, but doesn’t disagree. Bracing myself against one of the Welwig trunks, I take in our surroundings.
Vhalthor's forces stand in a circle, facing outward toward the shadows, their weapons raised and eyes narrowed as they scan the darkened forest beyond. Dagny’s mates crowd close to her, whispering in low voices, seeming just as concerned.
I can see why. It is quiet here. Too quiet. No wind moving through the canopy. No creaking of limbs. Nothing scurrying along the frozen ground. Nothing calling. Nothing breathing. Nothing, nothing, nothing…
These are not like the Welwig forests on the surface. These are older. Ancient. Deadly.
“We should not stay in one place too long.” Vhalthor’s voice is low, laced with a primal fear that we all feel. “Let’s move.”
Vhalthor moves to the front of the group, gesturing his troops forward with two fingers. They disappear into the dark, and we follow suit. The entire group is silent, worried, watching the shadows like they might come alive and attack.
Perhaps they will…
The deeper we go, the darker it gets. The trees stop being distinguishable from one another, and I lose track of the pit's direction. Vhalthor trudges ahead without care, and if he is lost, he doesn’t show it. I choose to follow, hoping he knows where to go.
We’re somewhere near the center of the forest when it happens.
A rolling scream echoes throughout the shadowed forest, seeming to originate from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s deep and vibrates through the air with the confidence of a predator toying with its prey. I have never heard anything like it. It sounds… evil.
Just as soon as it started, it stops. Somehow, the silence is more terrifying.
It hasn’t left. It’s waiting. Watching us.
I send my thoughts down the bond. I don’t think I could force myself to get the words out. An icy terror grips me, refusing to let go. Something about that sound, the creature that produced it…
I realize at this moment that I have never once in my life known true fear, not like this.
Vhalthor turns, his expression stony. However, his eyes give him away. He’s just as scared as I am—probably more. “We need to move. Something has found us—”
He’s cut off by a piercing scream—this time, from one of his men.
Vhalthor whips around, searching for the source. His eyes move from soldier to soldier, taking a mental inventory. “Is there anyone unaccounted for?”
Silence. Then a voice from the back of the group, shaking with barely repressed terror. “Stult is missing. H-he was right beside me, and now…” The soldier looks like he’s going to be sick. “Oh, gods…”
Vhalthor's expression hardens, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Everyone, keep an eye out. Something is hunting us—”
Another scream. Somewhere to the left but closer. It pierces through the silence, then cuts off the same way the other did. Vhalthor whips toward it, and then a second scream, this time from behind. Finally, a third, this one from a direction I can’t place at all.
The soldiers around me start turning in place, backs pressing together. I can hear the panic building in their breathing. We wait. We watch. But there’s nothing.
Enraged, Vhalthor wields his sword, snarling into the shadows. “Coward! Come out and fight!”
There is silence. A breath. A breeze. Then all hell breaks loose.