23. Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
It was nearly nightfall on the second day when they reached the boundary of the Wylds.
No markings indicated where the untamed wilderness began, but Nova sensed it, as did the others.
Even the horses came up short, nickering nervously as they took a few steps backward.
Nova dismounted, boots squelching in the sodden ground, leaving Shade free to wander.
Callan and the Wyldlings did the same, readying themselves with weapons and provisions.
Though they intended the trip into the Wylds to be short, there was no knowing how long it would take.
Besides, time was a slippery thing on the moors, folk said.
After securing the map at his waist, Callan motioned for the others to follow. Inhaling a steadying breath, Nova trailed a step behind him and entered the Wylds. All at once, a cool fog enveloped them, thick enough to cause moisture to bead on their skin.
“No one move,” Callan warned. “Wyld magic may have already turned us around. Keep close while we get our bearings.”
He unrolled the map, perusing it with eyes squinted in the low light.
Dropping a hand, he fished out the moonstone he kept in the pouch at his hip.
Holding it near the parchment, Callan glanced back and forth between the pale light illuminating the map and the sky overhead, searching for Illora, the constant star.
A waypoint by which to navigate. Bryn and Riven crowded him, tapping their fingers against the scroll in turns and arguing about which way was which.
Nova tipped her head to the sky, but nothing shone through the thick fog swirling around them.
To her left, a sharp cry cut through the eerie whistle of the wind racing along the moors.
She shot a glance at the others, but they continued arguing as if they’d heard nothing.
Taking a few cautious steps in the direction of the noise, Nova peered into the nothingness, head cocked, ears straining to hear if it would come again.
Another mournful cry, like that of a lost child, reached her.
In the same instant, a faint blue glow appeared in the distance, winking in and out like a firefly.
Without conscious thought, Nova hastened toward the flickering light. When, at last, she reached it, she found a lantern with a blue flame burning within.
“Hello again, miss.”
Unsheathing her dagger, Nova spun at the small voice directly behind her. With a gasp, she recognized the youngling from the alleyway whose cursed hands she’d mended. But what was he doing in the Wylds? So far from the city and all alone?
“Startled you, did I?” The child grinned, the expression unsettling her given the circumstances. Hadn’t she heard him crying only a moment before?
She looked beyond him to where Callan and the others stood, still disagreeing over the map. She hadn’t realized she’d strayed so far; their voices were slowed, distorted as if carrying over a great distance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, sheathing her dagger and willing her startled heartbeat to slow.
“I followed you,” the boy replied matter-of-factly.
“A bit foolish, don’t you think?” Nova tsked. She gestured around them. “Look where you’ve ended up.”
He glanced about at the swirling mist, a knowing smile never leaving his lips.
“Are you lost?” he asked, tilting his head, emerald-green eyes taking on a mischievous glint.
Callan, Bryn, and Riven remained in the same spot, huddled around the map.
“I suppose I am,” she sighed. “We’re here to find the burial mounds.”
The boy nodded slowly. “I know the place.”
“You do?” Nova crouched down in front of him.
He nodded again, his smile spreading wider. Nova leaned back slightly, a warning flickering in her gut.
“Would you . . .” He dipped his chin, stifling a laugh. “Would you like me to take you there?”
Nova considered for a beat. By the looks of it, she and her companions could use all the help they could get. “If you truly know the way, then yes.”
The boy laughed, an impish giggle that echoed around her as a flash of blue light blinded her.
Nova stumbled to her feet, blinking rapidly.
When her vision returned, Callan and the Wyldlings were gone.
She whirled in an unsteady circle, expecting with each breath to lay eyes upon the others, but they’d disappeared entirely.
Laughter bubbled up behind her, and she spun to face the boy once again.
“Where are my friends? Where have you taken me?” she demanded, rushing the child who continued to snicker, obviously delighted by the trick.
“I simply brought you where you asked to go,” he replied, laughter finally drying up. His eyes went wide, but Nova recognized it as a mockery of innocence; this was no youngling.
“You asked did I want you to take us there,” Nova hissed, stomping through the wet grass and squinting into the fog, her patience razor-thin.
“I asked if you wanted me to take you there,” he clarified. “And you agreed.”
Finding no sign of Callan or the others, Nova turned back to the sprite, planting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. It was suddenly so obvious to her, the exaggerated guise of childhood.
The eyes and mouth a bit too large for the small, round face.
The voice a bit too shrill. She chided herself for not seeing it sooner, but she was here now. What was she going to do about it?
“Very well. You’ve had your fun,” she scolded, assuming the tone of a nagging schoolteacher eager for the afternoon bell. She held her arms out wide at her sides. “You said you’d take me to the burial mounds, so where are they?”
The sprite dug the toe of his boot into the damp earth, ducking his head sheepishly.
“We’re not supposed to lead you directly to them,” he explained. “It’s against the rules.”
“Rules?” Nova scoffed. “I wasn’t aware there were any rules governing this godsforsaken place.”
“This land was here before the gods; it is the rule of the land I obey. I’ve brought you as close as I can. True, I played a nasty trick on you before. But you helped me.” He lifted his hands with his fingers splayed wide. “In return for your kindness, I’ll help you now.”
Nova considered him for a moment. She shouldn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him; though, given his small stature, she wagered she could fling him a fair distance.
After a moment, she blew out a breath and took stock of her inventory.
She carried both her sword and dagger. The small pouch at her hip held a bit of cheese and bread folded inside a handkerchief, her small throwing knife, and a moonstone charm strung on a silver chain.
“Well then?” She raised her brows at the sprite, still inexplicably treating him like an errant child despite knowing he was likely as old as the land itself.
“To find the mounds, keep to the path.” He motioned to the ground. The strip of grass beneath her boots was denser and deeper in color than the surrounding blades. “No matter what you hear—who you hear—do not stray.”
With a flick of his wrist indicating the direction behind her, he sent her on her way. Nova turned on her heel and strode a few steps before twisting to face him again.
“How will I—” she started, but the sprite was gone, having disappeared into the mist once more.
The fog whirled around her, an eerie, high-pitched whistle ringing in her ears. Nova flexed her fingers inside her gloves, bringing warmth to her joints gone sluggish while she’d been standing still. Turning into the wind, she trudged forward along the path as the sprite had bid her.
Though it wasn’t particularly cold, the air was raw with the rain.
Nova’s cloak kept her dry for the most part, but the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck remained standing on end.
She could see no farther than an arm’s length in any direction.
Cries rang out from time to time in the surrounding night.
With each one, her heart lurched in her chest, and she frantically scanned the darkness for the source of the wails.
All at once, the voice crying out became Callan’s, heavy with agony and despair.
Nova whirled toward the sound, her first instinct to race off the path in search of her mate, rules be damned.
But she restrained herself, drawing on every bit of will she possessed to keep from charging into the darkness.
Turning her back on the awful cries, she bit the inside of her cheek until it bled and continued on through the mist.
Without the light of the moon or Illora overhead, the night was all-consuming.
Nova didn’t see the burial mounds until they rose up out of the ground only a few paces ahead of her.
She halted, nearly falling on her ass as her boots slid in a patch of mud.
A mound of packed earth topped with a thick carpet of lush green grass loomed over her, standing nearly twice her height.
The entrance gaped like a void, flanked by two granite columns etched with unfamiliar writing.
A great mouth yawning open, waiting to swallow her whole.
Nova worried her bottom lip as a shudder rippled through her.
A peal of familiar laughter rang out, clear as a bell, and Nova’s gaze flew to a slab of gray stone balanced atop the columns. There sat the boyish sprite, blue-flame lantern in hand, legs hanging down and kicking back and forth as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Well done!” he cried. “I never once doubted you.”
“Your confidence is greatly appreciated,” Nova muttered, her attention returning to the cavernous entrance before her.
“You truly mean to enter?” the sprite asked, a hint of fear clinging to the edge of his shrill voice.
“I must.” Nova craned her neck to look at him once again. “Something I need is hidden inside.”
The sprite loosed a heavy sigh. “If you must go in, you’ll need a light.”