Chapter 31 Wren
Night’s Edge sat securely on Wren’s hip as she and Tor left the Mishnick Mountains. Despite its size and heft, the sword made her feel lighter, affording her more energy than she’d had in weeks. She shouldn’t have been surprised that an ancient sword that once belonged to Eana herself, and that came from the healing waters of her mountains, would possess within it a measure of healing magic, but this latent power had caught her off guard. She welcomed it gladly. After all, she was going to need every last ounce of strength in the days ahead.
Willa waved them off, her smile tight as she watched them pick their way down the mountain and through the narrow pass, where the northern plains of Eana rolled on in a patchwork of green and grey. The going ahead would be tough but Wren was glad at least of the clear blue sky, and the mid-morning sun casting its warmth over them. She carried Eana’s sword – though it had only just come into her possession, she could not now imagine herself parting with it – while Tor carried their satchels, one of which had been filled with provisions for the journey home.
Though they set off in good spirits, Wren didn’t miss the worried frown that flitted across Tor’s face every so often.
‘There’s no better place for Alarik right now,’ she said. ‘He’s not well enough to march into war.’
Tor’s frown only deepened. ‘For Gevrans, war is often restorative.’
Wren burst into laughter, before realizing he was serious. ‘What could possibly be relaxing about war?’
‘It’s not the act of war itself but rather what it stands for. And who you stand with.’ He looked past her, the ghost of old battles flitting behind his eyes. ‘There’s no greater honour than fighting for a cause far beyond yourself, Wren.’ He gestured towards Night’s Edge at her hip. ‘You’ll see soon enough.’
Wren gripped the hilt of her sword. ‘What is this cause?’ she said, more to herself than to Tor.
‘Peace,’ he said, without hesitation. ‘In your country. In yourself.’
She nodded. Yes, she liked the sound of that. She could fight for that. She looked up at him. ‘What is the cause for you?’
He smiled. ‘Don’t you know?’
At her look of bewilderment, he chuckled. ‘You are my cause, Wren.’
Wren’s cheeks flushed and she stared at her boots, trying to think of something clever to say. But it felt as if her heart was swelling in her chest, and her breath was coming quick and sharp. ‘Thank you for coming back with me to Anadawn. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
It was the truth, as plain as she could say it.
‘I’ll go with you as far as you want me to, Wren. To the fires of war and beyond that still,’ he said, and when she looked at him – and saw the storm in his eyes, fierce and unyielding – she knew his words to be true, too. ‘So long as I don’t have to lose you again.’
‘Never,’ said Wren. She paused. ‘Well. Unless I die.’
‘I’d find you even in the starless afterlife.’
Wren’s blood roared, heat gathering in her cheeks until she had to look away to weather the sudden swell of her emotions – her happiness at his words, her need to bury them in her soul. They soothed the jagged shards of her heart, filling her with such warmth, she felt as if she could do anything with him by her side. But she couldn’t say any of that. All the words, the feelings, crowded together on her tongue, and instead, she let out a soft laugh. ‘A little overconfident, don’t you think?’
He flashed his teeth, seeing easily through her veneer. ‘Never underestimate a Gevran in love.’
She smiled back. ‘Is this the part where you say your heart is your greatest weapon?’
Now it was Tor’s turn to burst into laughter. Wren wrapped herself inside the sound, glad to be near it once more. They wandered on. Despite the ancient magic of the sword at her hip, it was not a true cure for the curse inside her. After a couple of hours, Wren began to tire. Her legs grew leaden, and her head began to spin. She tried not to show her discomfort on her face, but Tor was watching her more closely than she realized.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a little tired.’
His brows hunched. ‘You’re pale.’
‘I’m just—’ She stumbled on a wayward rock. He lunged, grabbing her by the waist.
‘Let’s stop a moment. Drink some water. Have some food.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Wren, stepping out of Tor’s embrace. ‘We’re making good progress.’
‘Wren,’ he said, his voice a growl.
She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘You can’t wrangle me, Captain Iversen.’
His eyes flashed, streaks of lightning cutting through the grey. ‘Care to wager?’
A delicious shiver rippled up Wren’s spine. ‘I like this game.’
‘Sit,’ he said, gesturing to a nearby cluster of rocks. ‘And we can play any game you like.’
Wren sat. At Tor’s request, she drank some water and ate some bread, along with a thick slice of hard cheese. After, she felt better, if only a little. She rolled to her feet and he leaped up, too, as though he was waiting to catch her.
‘I’m all right,’ she said.
He reached for her, cautiously. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she said, touching the hilt of Night’s Edge and feeling the warm buzz of its power.
They journeyed on, through the northern plains, talking and laughing as the sun arced over them. Every so often Wren tired. Sometimes, Tor noticed before she did, pulling them off the path and setting up camp somewhere nearby for her to eat something, drink something, rest a while. As the day wore on, the stops got longer. Wren resorted to sitting on Tor’s lap, letting him hold her as she closed her eyes.
By evening, they were still far from the town of Glenlock, where the royal carriage awaited them. The sun had set, and night was falling, casting a chill in the wind. They stopped to eat. Tor built a fire, and after, Wren curled up under a blanket, determined to steal an hour or two of rest. Sleep came swiftly, and when it got its claws into her, it did not easily let go.
When Wren woke, the dawn birds were singing, and the sun was rising over the distant hills. She sat bolt upright to find Tor stoking the dwindling fire.
‘You were supposed to wake me!’
‘Was I?’
She flung her shoe at him.
He caught it with one hand. ‘You’re cheerful in the morning.’
‘We’re wasting time.’
‘You were exhausted, Wren.’
‘I’m always exhausted,’ she said, throwing the blanket off her. ‘We have to get on with it.’
‘We will now that you’re awake,’ he said, coming to his feet. ‘There are plenty of wild horses nearby. I’ll find a couple to wrangle.’
Wren stared at him. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m as serious as that scowl on your face.’ He winked, coaxing a reluctant smile from her.
‘Come,’ he said, grabbing their things and stalking ahead. ‘We’re on the hunt.’
Wren hurried after him, the sudden spike of adrenaline urging her on, until – far sooner than she expected – they came across a herd of horses at the end of the valley.
There were seven of them, grazing on the long grass. Wren was about to ask Tor about his plan when he slowed his pace, raising both hands as if he was surrendering to them. Three of the horses bolted at his approach but the others remained, as though the mere sight of Tor stalking slowly through the grass had lulled them into a trance. He clicked his teeth as he drew closer and then paused, as if he was trying to decide which ones to claim.
To Wren’s surprise, two of the horses trotted towards him. The first was a black stallion with a white diamond patch on his muzzle; the other was a smaller brown mare. As Tor approached them with calm and careful strides, the horses bowed their heads, allowing him to place his palm against their muzzles. He whispered something in the space between them, as if he was making a bargain, or perhaps he was casting his own kind of spell. In any case, in that moment, the wrangler was a marvel to Wren.
To her astonishment, when Tor turned back to her, the horses followed him.
Soon, they were riding side by side, Tor astride the black stallion while Wren guided the brown mare down the sloping hills and through the rest of the valley, heading east towards the town of Glenlock.
It was mid-afternoon by the time she spied the silver lake shimmering in the distance, and the narrow houses that huddled along its northern shore.
Wren sat up straighter, buoyed by the sight of civilization. ‘I’m starving,’ she said, urging her horse faster. ‘Let’s stop in the first tavern we see and order the entire menu.’
‘You really do know the way to my heart,’ said Tor, keeping pace with her.
As they approached the town, Wren narrowed her eyes, searching for the carriage they had left behind three days ago. There was no sign of it anywhere. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. The streets of Glenlock were completely deserted. Even the lake was eerily still. The horses slowed at the edge of the water, as though they were afraid to go any further.
‘Wren.’ Tor’s voice was too loud in the silence. ‘Something’s off.’
‘There’s no wind here,’ she whispered, all too aware of her burning scar. ‘There’s no life at all.’
Tor slid from his horse, his hand coming to the hilt of his sword. ‘Stay here.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Wren hopped off after him.
‘Wren.’
‘Don’t,’ she warned.
His nostrils flared. ‘Fine.’ He pointed at Night’s Edge. ‘Hoist your sword. And stay behind me.’
Wren met him stride for stride. ‘We go together, or not at all.’
‘You really are a handful.’
‘Shush. We’re sneaking.’
They crept through the town of Glenlock, checking every empty inn and deserted tavern, peering through the windows of silent homes. Several front doors had been left wide open, as though the occupants had left in a hurry.
‘Where did they all go?’ said Wren, uneasily.
‘The better question is, what chased them away?’
Wren had a horrible feeling she already knew. The longer they spent in Glenlock, the more her scar ached. They were about to turn and leave when they heard a distant wail. Tor jerked his chin up, tracking the sound.
‘What the hell was that?’ said Wren.
‘Let’s find out.’
The air grew colder as they journeyed further north, leaving the lakeside for a thicket of trees that marked the town’s boundary. For a while, the only sound was the quiet patter of their steps, until something cracked under Wren’s foot.
She froze. ‘Tor.’
‘Don’t look down,’ he said, but it was too late.
In her hurry, Wren had accidentally trodden on a skull. It stared up at her now, with huge, gaping eyes. She stumbled backwards, rocked by a sudden rush of nausea. ‘That’s … oh no … that’s …’
‘A human skull.’ Tor bent down to inspect it. ‘No maggots. It must be long dead.’
Wren grimaced. ‘What the hell is it doing in the middle of the street?’ she said, just as another wail rang out. It was closer now, and it didn’t sound like a beast. It sounded like a sob. It was coming from somewhere just up ahead, where a line of trees marked the entrance to a graveyard.
‘Come on,’ said Tor, taking her hand in his and gripping his sword with the other.
When they entered the graveyard, Wren had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. All of the graves had been disturbed. Headstones lay cracked in two, grass and dirt kicked up and strewn everywhere. Even the trees bent towards the ground as if they were weeping. Nearby, a skeleton had collapsed half out of its grave, as if it was desperately trying to climb out.
Wren swore it jerked its skull to look up at her.
‘She’s taken all the dead out of Glenlock,’ she whispered, in mounting horror. ‘These graves held bodies of people, Tor.’ At the sight of another skeleton crushed beneath a shattered headstone, Wren sank to her knees, willing the terror to pass. But it only grew.
And then came that sound again, only this time, it was muffled.
Tor tracked it to a nearby tree, where he came to an abrupt halt. He lowered his sword, his voice strained.
‘Wren …’ Wren stumbled after him. When she rounded the tree, she stopped just the same. There, across a small clearing, a boy no older than six sat quivering. He was clutching a sobbing little girl against his chest, begging her to be quiet. She must have been his sister.
‘It’s all right,’ said Wren, lowering her sword. ‘We’re here to help you.’
When the girl looked up at Wren, she let out a terrified scream. The boy tried to scrabble backwards, but he was already wedged against a tree. ‘Please don’t take us,’ he sobbed. ‘We don’t want to go.’
‘Hush now,’ said Wren, softly. ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’
The girl only wailed harder.
Tor came to his knees, his voice achingly gentle. ‘Have you seen this woman before?’
The boy looked at Wren, and nodded.
Wren’s heart sank. Oonagh had terrorized the town of Glenlock and scared the children into the woods. The poor things couldn’t even look at her without trembling. ‘I’m not her,’ she said, kneeling beside Tor. ‘I promise you. We just look the same, that’s all. I don’t want to scare you. I want to help you.’
The boy bit his bottom lip, looking between them.
‘I’m a soldier, see?’ Tor gestured to his Anadawn uniform. The girl looked up, her sob dying in her throat. Wren’s likeness to Oonagh might have unsettled the children, but they seemed to be comforted by Tor’s presence. ‘Tell us what you saw.’
The boy summoned his courage with a shuddering breath. ‘The witch woman came up from the river yesterday. She was like a fish first. Then she looked like …’ He glanced at Wren.
‘Like me,’ she said. ‘It’s all right.’
He went on, his words quickening. ‘There were animals, too. Mountain lions and tigers with scary red eyes and big, dripping mouths. Everyone ran away. Some went to the northern mountains. Others headed for the southern road. They took the horses and the carriages. Bonnie and I came to hide in the graveyard. But the witch woman came here, too. And then she … she …’ He pointed a trembling hand past their shoulders. ‘She took the skeletons and made them stand up. She made them go with her.’
‘Freezing hell,’ muttered Tor.
Wren fought to control her anger. ‘And you’ve been hiding here ever since?’
The boy sniffed. ‘We’re waiting for Papa to come back.’
‘Come with us,’ said Wren, standing up. ‘You can’t stay here alone. We’ll take you to the next village to find your papa.’ The children hesitated, fear flitting behind their tired eyes. They could not seem to fully separate her from her ancestor, giving Wren yet another reason to burn with hatred for Oonagh. ‘Or if you like, you can ride with Captain Iversen?’
The boy nodded. The girl took Tor’s hand. He holstered his sword, so the boy could take his other hand, and together, all four of them picked their way out of the graveyard and walked back to the horses. Wren walked ahead, with Night’s Edge held aloft, while Tor spoke with the children about his sword and the kinds of beasts he used to wrangle back on Carrig.
Wren smiled as she listened, trying to put her rage and revulsion aside. They had yet to discuss the full horror of what they had discovered in Glenlock, but with the children among them, they set the issue momentarily to rest and led them safely to the lake, where the horses took them fast and far from the eerie ghost town and the graves Oonagh Starcrest had pillaged there.