Chapter Twelve
We race, side by side, through the pitch-black desert.
My pulse throbs in my head, making it even more difficult to see as Will leads me over the dusty, uneven terrain, navigating the darkness by memory.
Where Will had struggled to stand on his own this morning, now we practically fly over the rocks.
He’s moving so fast, I wonder if it’s panic that gives him strength, propelling him forward—or something else.
“Will,” I say gently, attempting to slow my pace, “you don’t have to push yourself—”
“Yes, I do!” he hisses through gritted teeth, coming to an abrupt halt.
He whirls to face me, black lesions squirming beneath his clammy skin as he flicks a glance at my neck.
He squeezes his eyes shut, his grip on my hand painfully tight.
“I’m getting stronger,” he says, and when he opens his eyes again, his throat bobs, his gaze softening.
“I feel better than I have in days, and I—” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You remember what you said about putting me down?”
I nod, my throat tight.
“Still think you can?”
I squeeze his hand, matching his strength. “I won’t need to.”
Sweat slicks his forehead, but that familiar amusement glitters in his eyes. “Let’s pray to the Stars you’re right.”
We run faster, but as we climb over boulders and down narrow ridges, I can’t help but think the Underling general is behind Will’s sudden change in health.
Again, I wonder—am I giving the Shifter and Morana both exactly what they want by racing willingly toward the Burning Lands?
Do I really have a choice?
Will slows to a jog as we approach the border, his head on a swivel.
When we reach the towering, twenty-foot wall made entirely of stone, he stands erect, his spine straight—strong, determined—and it’s strange to see him like this when yesterday it looked as if the fever might claim him at any moment.
If I’m right, and the Underling general has temporarily given Will this burst of strength, I don’t think it would be wise to mention it to Will.
After all, the general could have already escaped from Henry and the others and come after us.
He could be watching us now. And if I question Will’s health, who’s to say the general won’t take it back?
I need Will to make it past the wall—need him on his own two feet.
The wall sparkles in the scant moonlight breaking through the haze of smoke overhead, and it’s only when we’ve reached the barrier that I see the bits of silver interspersed throughout the rock.
“They built the wall before they realized the silver didn’t do much to deter the Underlings in this form,” Will explains, dragging his hand over the wall, searching for something.
“I thought you said there’s more Underling activity at night?” I whisper.
“This area has been mostly inactive for weeks,” he answers.
“The real battle is being waged to the north, near Kane. The outposts here are mainly small patrols, only meant to maintain a presence so the Underlings don’t slip past the barricade.
Ah! Here.” He bends down, removing a loose piece of rock to reveal a hole just big enough to crawl through.
“I’ll make sure it’s all clear,” he says, flattening himself on the ground.
Before I can protest, he’s gone, his boots disappearing as he crawls through the tunnel.
Minutes pass before Will’s whisper echoes from the opening, “Your turn!”
Stone scrapes against my arms as I crawl through the tunnel.
The wall is thicker than I’d anticipated, but soon Will grabs my wrists and pulls me the rest of the way through.
He helps me to my feet, brushing soot from my hair.
His gaze searches my face, as if scanning for any sign of injury, and I look over his shoulder, my heart in my stomach, at the stretch of charred earth, illuminated by fires that burst from the ground, shooting into the sky at unpredictable intervals. Dangerous. Deadly.
The Burning Lands.
I reach into my pocket, but… “It’s gone!”
Will pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, his brow furrowed. “What’s gone?”
I turn my pockets inside out, my legs almost giving way from beneath me. “The compass! It’s gone!”
A shadow passes over Will’s face. “What do you mean it’s gone?” His grip tightens around my arms, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “Aster, that compass—”
“I know!” My chest squeezes. “Gabriel must have taken it. I know I had it—” My voice breaks. “I promise, it was here—”
“It’s all right,” Will says, his hands relaxing. “It’s fine. We don’t need it.”
“What?” I wipe sweat from my forehead. “Of course we do! I almost died so that the Order could enchant that compass—so that we could find Morana on our own terms—”
But Will has already taken my hand, leading me through the labyrinth of flames.
He barks a laugh, harsh and guttural. “On our own terms! She was never going to let that happen. She’s been ten steps ahead of the Order at every turn.
Everything that’s happened is because she wanted it to be so.
She already knows you’re here! She has spies everywhere.
It’s only a matter of time before she sends someone to retrieve you.
No, no, look at me—” He whirls, his hands on my face, forcing me to meet his wild gaze.
“We need to hide. At least until morning. Then we can…” He licks his lips, nods. “We can find the entrance ourselves.”
“No one has ever—”
“Not very many have tried!” Another rasping laugh. “And none of them had the power of the Lightbringer. Your connection with Morana… it could lead us to her.”
I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. “What if it doesn’t? What if I can’t—”
“You can!” His deep, smoky voice rumbles like thunder.
“Curse or not—power or not—I’ve never met anyone like you.
You can do this, Aster. Not because you’re the heir of Hildegarde—not because of who your family is or was.
Because of who you are. Because you don’t give up.
You never surrender.” His gaze searches mine, as it has so many times before—seeking answers to questions he doesn’t dare speak aloud.
Softly, as if we weren’t surrounded by towering infernos, he whispers, “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
My mouth falls open, but before I remember how to form words, Will is running again, leading me across the scorched terrain.
We race toward a charred mountain in the distance, following a river of molten lava that bubbles and spits liquid fire at our feet.
Owen used to point at the volcanoes on his maps, mountains that bordered the chasm of fire at the center of the Burning Lands.
Punishment for our greed, he would tell me of the tremor that split the earth six hundred years ago.
A warning that we will burn for our ancestors’ transgressions if we don’t atone for their wicked ways.
I’ll never burn, I said once, my chin raised in defiance. The water will protect me.
Spoken like a true pirate. Owen laughed, mussing my hair, but there was reverence in his voice when he said, The water will always protect you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you carry the ocean with you. He pointed at my head, my heart. It’s a part of you, little mouse. It’s in your blood.
But the ocean feels far, far away as the fire rages all around us. In the distance, there’s a low, keening wail, and the earth tremors underfoot.
Will runs faster.
“Where are we going?” I shout over the crack of flames.
“The mountains! There might be a cave or—”
A chorus of screams seems to echo all around us, but I can’t see anything in the blaze.
Will’s grip on my hand is almost painful.
The screams fade to small, pitiful cries that sound almost… childlike. Human.
We’re close enough to the base of the mountains. I can make out a break in the outcropping of black stone. Will’s pace increases, preternaturally fast.
But I’m not fast enough.
And when I trip over a bit of loose rock, my knees colliding with the black earth, the cries give way to a sound that chills my blood.
Giggling.
Will drags me to my feet as the first creature lands on a boulder, the size and stature of a bear, its twelve spidery tentacles curling around its perch in place of four legs, its webbed wings still flapping.
It cocks its furry head at us, its masklike face resembling a porcelain owl, its eyes like hollow white voids.
When it smiles, the unnaturally stretched mouth is almost human, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“Hello, sweet lambs.” The innocent, childlike voice sends shivers down my spine. “Did you think you could hide?”
Two more land on the rocks, surrounding us on all sides.
“They’re called Stalkers,” Will says, angling his body in front of mine as he slowly rotates, his hands flexing at his sides. “Don’t let their tentacles grab hold of you. They’ll leech all the happiness from your soul until you’re nothing but a mindless husk.”
“Now, now,” comes another squeaky voice. The Stalker crawls down the rock, smiling gleefully. “It isn’t nice to lie.”
“We only want to play,” pouts the third Stalker, rising into the air, hovering over the rocks. It giggles. “Then we’ll take you to our queen. She’ll be so pleased.”
“So pleased,” echoes the first Stalker, slithering toward us.
I draw my daggers and turn, pressing my back to Will’s. “Can we kill them?”
Will cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders. “You tell me?”
“I’d certainly like to try.”
I imagine I hear a smile in Will’s voice when he says, “That’s the spirit.”
The first Stalker leaps, surprisingly agile, its tentacles outstretched. But I roll, slicing my daggers in a smooth arc, and the Stalker shrieks as purple blood spews from two missing arms.
The shriek turns to giggling, as if the wound merely tickled the monster. It lurches at me again, swiping at me almost playfully, but as I dodge each blow, slicing at its slimy arms, its laughter grows more hysterical.
Behind the creature, two Stalkers converge on Will.