37. Blood Path
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Blood Path
The Barren was a cold, frightening place. The leaves bore no color. Trees varied. Some were hollowed out with thin fibers that connected at disjointed places. Others leaked a thick, brown, syrupy liquid.
We had reached the entrance, where green turned to gray, and began walking. We had not stopped since. A very faint mist coated the ground. The sky was shadowed by the looming, towering trees that reached high into the sky. It was clear that dusklight was near.
“We have crossed that tree,” Archer said. Even though he was quiet, it sounded like a scream. “I am sure we passed this.” He traced the tree’s shape in the air.
Liadan walked to the other side of the tree, eyeing it. “Bloody Saints,” he muttered. He reached for something out of view and lifted a small white stone. The same type he had been dropping occasionally.
“Fuck.” Jude rubbed his head as if it ached.
“This happened last time. I reached a moment where no matter what direction I went, I could not pass,” Liadan commented. “When I exited the threshold to this side, I would have died wandering if not for the Sanguine Stone growing colder the further I was from the threshold.”
“That would have been a good thing to know,” Archer snapped, shoving his hand into his bag.
“It would not have worked unless we reached a certain point anyway.” Liadan shrugged like a chastised boy.
“There is no need for the stone until we are done and have to leave. The Sanguine will only draw out the threshold, not the cenote.”
‘Saints, Amara,’ Cassiel growled into my mind, already gathering that I had left out vital information.
“You are hiding something,” Archer accused.
I grabbed the slim dagger and did not even let them see as I sliced my palm. Red blood trickled down my hand. My wrist was taken and yanked harshly.
“What are you doing?” Cassiel snarled.
His anger radiated. I could taste it on my tongue. Fortunately, he had grabbed my hand with the knife. Meanwhile, the blood dripped off my fingertips. From the corner of my eye, red glowed. I ripped my hand from his grip.
“Amara.”
The ground absorbed the blood. It sank into the dirt as if drinking the droplets, as if slaking its thirst. The ground breathed beneath my feet. Gasps that intertwined with cursing came from all around.
“The blood disappeared,” one of the men whispered. A line of scarlet, the thickness of my pinky, spread forward from where it fell. Scarlet seemed to mingle with black, turning the red a shade darker.
“The path,” I whispered, following the thin line of red leading through The Barren.
“Where?” Archer murmured.
‘We do not see it, Amara,’ Cassiel said.
“Follow me,” I whispered. “And keep close. Once we begin down this path, there is no escaping.”
I did not know how accurate my translations were at times, but that part was unmistakable. I took the lead, but had only taken a few paces before the line began to disappear. Another slice across my palm had blood dripping from my hand again.
Cassiel had my arm in a hard grip in the next instant.
“Gnash your teeth at me all you want,” I snapped. “But you are prolonging this.” We stared each other down, both of us heaving. I twisted my arm until he released it.
Not waiting for him to do something else, I continued down the path. The gash I created across my hand had already begun to heal, but I kept it angled so droplets fell in a rhythmic plop.
“So there was never an easy way to reach other realms,” someone, I believe, Jude, said. “They made us believe that realms stretched across and into each other. That as long as one kept moving forward, eventually one would reach another realm.”
“Instead it led to deaths,” Archer added grimly.
It certainly had.
A screech pierced through what had become dusklight. Within the cover of The Barren, it had turned incredibly dark, with the faintest spears of orange light coming through sporadically.
An intense wave of fear fell over my shoulders.
“Hurry.” I quickened my pace, the crunch of leaves and stems cracking through the forest.
Familiar clicking swelled.
“Fuck.” I think that was Liadan who spoke.
The sharp zing of swords being drawn out reached my ears. A group of four of those massive crawling Hollows emerged from the forest, coming from whatever dens they lived within. Six-legged leather creatures with a beak-like mouth that were able to come out during dusklight.
One moved faster than the rest and lunged towards us. Cassiel slid the blade across its chest. It retreated with an ear-piercing roar.
Another Hollow arrived, and it clamped down on Liadan’s arm. He bellowed and stabbed its face until the beast released him. His arm dangled at an odd angle. Jude took over, slashing at it while Wilem came at its back.
Archer was busy battling with a third.
Cassiel kept me behind him at all moments, slashing and hacking at two Hollows that kept coming at him and retreating.
Archer lost footing and fell to the ground. My heart sank for Tabby. The Hollow lunged to bite his throat. He managed to roll to the side and the Hollow bit dirt and leaves.
It attempted to lunge at him again. I stepped between Archer and the Hollow, shoving my bleeding hand toward it as if that were any defense.
My sudden presence seemed to shock the Hollow.
It clicked, head tilting, obviously repelled by the scent of my blood.
It gave Cassiel the instant he needed to slide his sword through its neck from behind. He beheaded it in a smooth swipe.
Limbs and innards sprayed across the forest floor, and across the dress I wore. My eyes flew to Wilem. The shout caught in my throat—everything happened too fast to warn him.
The crawling Hollow opened its maw and with sudden speed bit down on Wilem’s head. Blue gushed from its mouth as the head popped. The crawling Hollow wrenched to the side, tearing Wilem’s head off in a messy yank of tendons and flayed flesh.
I gagged, my stomach rebelling. Cassiel whirled around and, in a smooth arc, drove the blade through the middle of the crawling Hollow and upward, disemboweling it.
I turned away from the sight. Jude’s grief-stricken face caught my eye. Liadan closed his eyes.
The blood line had begun to fade. I could not let Wilem’s death be added to.
Out of all the lessons I had learned since my journey began, the hardest one to accept was: there would be deaths and there was naught we could do to prevent them.
I drew the blade across my healed palm, cutting deeper and stretching it wider to my wrist. The ground drank it in, and the line spawned.
“We must continue,” I announced, gritting my teeth and moving forward. I didn’t have the heart to look at any of them.
Those crawling Hollows came out during dusklight; we did not need to add the ones that stood upon two-legs.
Cassiel kept pace behind me, scanning the surroundings. I could not see him well in the darkening forest, but he seemed to have become paler.
Everyone remained silent as we trekked.
The mist coating the leafy ground thickened. More and more until I could no longer see my feet. I had to squint to see the guiding line. I cut my quickly healing hand again. The sting had become numb and easy to ignore, especially with how quickly the gashes had been healing.
A few more paces and I could still not see. I realized I could also no longer see the others.
“Cassiel?” I called. The fog seemed to be living and breathing. “Archer, Liadan, Jude!”
“—here—” Archer’s voice came from a distance.
Where was Cassiel?
The fog pressed against my skin. I rubbed my chilled arms.
Movement caught my eye. Tawny hair came into view. I bolted toward him. Cassiel’s back was to me, his head lowered, hands in his hair.
“Cassiel?” I whispered.
He didn’t move. I reached out. As soon as I touched his back, he whirled with a snarl.
“You,” he snarled, teeth and fangs bared.
He looked at me with such disgust, then grabbed my arms, pulling me flush against his front. The small blade flew out of my hold. That look on his face was not disgust as I had thought. It was agony. Muscles strained in his features as if they had never twisted in such a manner.
His eyes . . . a thin layer of film had covered them.