Chapter 16
On her trek back to her tent, Elara felt as if she were barely touching the ground, floating on a cloud of thoughts rather than stepping on the earth. Dominic had told her to sleep, to take the night to process their conversation and revisit it in the morning.
She rolled her eyes. As if the thoughts racing through her head would allow her any rest.
"We're the remnants."
A tremor rippled through her. Could she be a remnant too? She mulled over the possibility, like turning a key in a lock that refused to click. Dominic had admitted he didn't know what she was and even doubted Osin's claims about her identity. Yet, her own memories contradicted that doubt.
Who could she trust? What should she believe? It all felt so crushingly overwhelming.
The sting of Dario’s betrayal twisted like a knife inside her, her heart clenching with a pain so intense she had to pause to catch her breath.
Dominic had accused him of suppressing her powers, but the pieces didn't fit together neatly.
Could it be that he thought he was protecting her?
Or was she a fool to grant him any semblance of understanding?
Everyone seemed to use her, each in their own way.
Perhaps Dario was assigned to keep her subdued, climbing the ranks by keeping her under thumb.
Maybe he told himself that suppressing her was for the greater good.
He could imagine, couldn't he, that by gaining power, he might better aid the common folk?
That he could rally the Druids to use their ether for those in need, offering the help he himself never received.
And if suppressing one girl was the cost of that vision, perhaps, in his mind, it was a justified sacrifice.
Inside the tent, the dying light of twilight bled through the fabric, casting trembling shadows that stretched and recoiled across her cot. She collapsed onto it, pressing her face into the scratchy surface. It smelled of the wild—of pine, damp earth, and survival.
Before leaving the group to the last of the dwindling fire, Dominic had offered her a choice: join them, and they would take her north.
If not, well, he hadn’t specified what would happen if she chose to leave, but he framed it as a choice.
Yet, deep down, Elara knew it wasn’t really one.
What real options did she have? She would not go back to Verdara; how could she return to a place where those she trusted had deceived and exploited her?
Running wasn’t feasible either; Osin could find her anywhere.
At least with Dominic and the others, she could hide within their wards.
It seemed her only viable option was to leave with them.
But if what Yoni said was true, the Druids were tracking her, even now, through the seal placed upon her...
Elara tossed and turned on the narrow cot, the thin mattress barely cushioning the hard, creaking frame beneath her.
Her mind kept circling back to Summon's Day.
Osin had called it a noble, purifying act, claiming the sacraments in her blood brought balance back to the realm.
But was any of it true? He had portrayed her power as a holy sacrifice, a gift she couldn't control.
And yet, she might be capable of so much more. ..
Aine's voice drifted through her thoughts, her vision clouding with the image of the goddess, a wavering mirage that beckoned with outstretched hands. “Awake and fulfill your purpose. Heal and restore. Give and consecrate.”
Elara recoiled, curling into herself, and burying her face in the musty scent of her sleeve.
Reality felt like it was slipping away, like fine sand sifting through her fingers—grains of truth mixed with lies.
Why had Aine named her the Hallowed and treated her with such reverence? What was the real purpose behind it?
If people could use Tírrísh—if a language alone could conjure ether—what need was there for her? One didn't require a ritual to bond with a language. They wouldn't depend on her blood...
Sleep came to her fitfully, like a restless sea that ebbed and flowed, always pulling her back into the same haunting dream.
A forest ablaze with flames reaching up into the dark sky, consuming the night while shadows danced under the moon’s indifferent watch.
Each time she woke, the dream stuck with her—the smell of smoke still in her nose, the sound of crackling fire in her ears.
It must have been just before dawn when a shrill, desperate scream pierced her nightmare, jolting her awake.
Her tent flap was violently thrown open, and a sliver of pale, early light cut through to reveal Bryn on the threshold, her eyes wild. "They're here," she whispered as she clutched Elara’s arm and yanked her to her feet.
As Bryn pulled her from the tent, Elara's gaze shot skyward, and she gasped. Above, thousands of ravens formed a swirling mass, their black wings nearly blotting out the morning light. Caws filled the air, and those beady eyes—countless and piercing—felt like arrows aimed straight at her. Shit.
The camp erupted—people spilling from tents, blurring as they sprinted for the horses. Elara barely registered the shouts before Bryn’s grip tightened on her arm, hauling her through the crush. Horses whinnied, metal clashed, men shouted as armor was dragged into place.
She stumbled over a fallen pack, but Bryn kept her upright, kept her moving. Somewhere, a horse screamed—a high, keening sound that cut through the din.
“Bryn!” Dominic's voice boomed, already mounted, and maneuvering his steed. He charged toward them, halting so suddenly that his horse skidded, flanks heaving. His shirt was half-on, hastily pulled over his torso, and a sword was strapped to his back. “What’s the latest from the ceirín?”
“They're just over a league out,” she managed, her voice rough with exertion. “We have minutes.”
Dominic swore a string of curses as Yoni rode up, his horse snorting, eager to charge. “Our wards are intact. It shouldn't have been possible for the High Priest to locate us.”
Bryn began braiding her hair back. “What about her bind?”
Yoni shook his head. “The bind is still pressing against our wards but hasn't broken through.” Looking down at her, his eyes were like dark pools. “The only explanation is that she carries something of theirs, one of their signatures.”
“Signatures?” Elara asked, her heart pounding.
“A ring, girl,” Bryn snapped.
Elara’s blood ran cold. A ring. She had almost forgotten she even had it after everything that had happened. Yoni didn't need to ask; the look on her face said it all.
“Fuck!”
Dominic swung down from his horse in one fluid motion. “Give it to me.”
Elara’s hands trembled as she pulled Algernon’s ring from her pocket and handed it over, the metal icy against her palm.
“No one thought to check her?” Yoni snapped, his eyes blazing.
“We don't have time to argue,” Bryn said, wringing her hands.
Dominic threw it on the ground, stomping on it with a force that sent a crack through the air. The jasper stone shattered, releasing a wisp of smoke that curled into the air like a dying breath.
Mother above. What was that?
Dominic's entire body shook with barely contained fury as he turned away, barking orders that cut sharply through the frenzy.
“Head west—fast and hard!” He turned to Yoni.
“Take the Hallowed to the safe house. It's a straight shot through the southern pass, less cover but faster. I'll lead the flock west toward the old mill, then light a beacon on the western ridge once we’ve diverted them. Wait for that signal before you even think about leaving. Stay sharp, stay hidden, and keep her safe.”
Yoni dipped his head, then turned to Elara. “Up.” He boosted her into the saddle and vaulted up behind her. She gripped the worn leather as the horse surged into a gallop.
Everything became a blur—shadows and dawning light merging, the camp disappearing behind them.
Yoni held her tightly, his arms forming a protective cage as he began to weave Tírrísh around them, the ancient language tumbling from his lips like a sacred hymn.
Each syllable spun out, shimmering gold, and enveloping them both in a gossamer cocoon.
Elara's muscles tensed reflexively, a cool sensation tracing her nerves as the spell tickled her skin.
It felt as if they were being lifted, floating through the trees, their bodies as insubstantial as wisps of mist. She dared a glance upward, half expecting the dark watch of ravens against the pale sky, but there were none.
Relief fluttered through her. Yoni's ether was hiding them.
She shut her eyes and drew a slow, steady breath.
They’d claimed breaking Dario’s seal would grant her access to ether, but she felt no different.
She searched inward, reaching for that quiet place—and found only herself: the beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest, the hush of her own thoughts.
Disappointment settled, cold and heavy. There was no time for it.
Yoni urged the horse faster, breaking through the dense woods into a wide, open clearing.
“Yah!” he shouted, and the horse responded with a burst of speed, hooves pounding the earth, dirt flying up in a wild spray around them.
Elara's hair whipped about her face, a tangled, wild mane of its own, and she felt a surge of exhilaration so fierce it could rival the storm of hooves below.
“How far are we from the safe house?”
“Thirty minutes to the closest one,” Yoni said, his breath hot against her neck. “Once we reach the pass, we'll be out of—“
Yoni didn't finish. Through the scattered gaps between gnarled tree branches, an armada of Verdaran guards burst forth, with Dario at the helm. His eyes found Elara's across the distance, wild with a fear bordering on madness.
Elara's breath caught, a sharp twinge of pain clenching at her heart at the sight of him.
“This ring’s power isn’t enough to get past all the security measures,” he had said. “There are protocols, safeguards in place. By dawn, you’ll be in chains, and I’ll be the one forced to drag you back in them.”
Safeguards. Had he been talking about the Binding Sigil?
Had he been admitting it right then, and she’d been too blind, too stupid to see it?
The realization hit like a punch to the gut, and any last threads of doubt about Dario's betrayal vanished in an instant.
A surge of rage flooded her veins. He had played her like a fool, just like everyone else in her life.
Elara's eye contact with Dario abruptly broke as Yoni violently pulled the reins to the right.
Startled, the horse reared up on its hind legs, hooves slashing the air, before it crashed back down and charged back into the dense forest. Branches whipped cruelly at them, snapping against their faces and hands as they barreled through the underbrush.
“Keep your head down!” Yoni shouted just as an arrow whizzed past Elara's neck, thudding heavily into a tree trunk.
Elara ducked but risked a glance over Yoni's shoulder, her heart pounding.
The light blue silver of the guard's armor flickered through the trees, catching the morning light, and shimmering like shards of ice.
They were closer now, moving so fluidly they almost seemed like ghosts weaving through the forest. A curse escaped through her clenched teeth. They weren't going to make it.
Yoni shouted a spell, his voice slicing through the clamor, and a towering wall of earth erupted behind them, surging upward like a monstrous wave.
Elara’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the forest floor rise, the air filling with the sounds of cracking wood and the deep, guttural groan of the earth tearing itself apart.
She gripped the reins tighter as the ground beneath her horse's hooves shuddered.
And in mere moments, the wall of earth expanded and thickened, forming a formidable barrier, effectively cutting off the advancing guard.
Her breath steadied, though her hands still trembled as they gripped the saddle. This was the power of Tírrísh? This was the ether the Keepers wield? It was incredible, almost impossible to comprehend.
Ahead, the earth rose, funneling into a narrow pass squeezed between two towering, jagged cliffs that seemed to touch the sky.
The southern pass.
The horse surged forward, muscles bunching beneath her as Elara leaned into the stride, urging them on. The world narrowed, edges blurring as the distance closed.
Then—heat and light exploded.
It was as if a vengeful star had torn through the forest and into their path, splitting trees and scorching the air around them.
Elara screamed as they were ripped from the saddle. She barely felt Yoni’s grip as he twisted them midair, turning the fall into a controlled spiral and pulling her beneath him before they hit the ground.
The impact punched the breath from her lungs.
“Fuuuuuuck.” The word was a long exhale. Gods. Air—she needed air. But Elara couldn't catch her breath. Her hands shook violently as they pressed against the scorched earth, the nearby fire licking at her skin as she rolled onto her side.
She froze, her heart slamming against her ribs as her gaze locked onto Yoni beside her. A gash split across his forehead, and blood was spilling out in a slow, steady stream. Too much, too fast.
“Yoni!”
Elara’s voice cracked as she grabbed his shirt, her fingers trembling as she shook him, but his eyes stayed stubbornly closed.
He must have hit something hard—a rock, maybe—knocked himself out.
Shit. They needed to move, but their horse was long gone, bolted in fear, leaving them stranded in this burning hellscape.
Could she carry him? Drag him through the pass on her own? Maybe she could—
A flicker in the flames caught her eye, cutting off her thoughts. She squinted against the glare as the fire shifted, parting as if an unseen hand had drawn back an infernal curtain.
The crackling blaze, the burning forest—everything else fell away, the world dimming at the edges.
The fire bowed.
There, standing in the heart of the flames, was the Hunter.