Chapter 7 #2
Up ahead, the forest turns gloomy with shadows. A thought crosses my mind. I haven’t seen a living creature since we entered the forest.
Tristan puts a finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet.
He pivots, taking us north. My legs ache from walking through the heavy snow, but I don’t complain and I don’t slow down.
Next to me, a large pile of snow falls from a branch overhead, nearly catching me underneath.
I peer up into the trees, squinting. The boughs ahead of us are moving, bouncing and shaking piles of snow from the pines.
At first, I think I see a family of squirrels overhead.
But when I look closer, I see something else.
The small brown creatures are similar in size to a squirrel, but they have no bushy tails.
Their limbs are human-like, but bent at strange angles.
Their bodies are round and covered in thick, patchy fur, like a winter cloak gone to moths.
The creatures have wide faces with squashed noses and mouths that turn down slightly in a permanent frown.
But what truly gives them away are their long fingers and beady black eyes.
“Fae,” I whisper in awe.
I watch as they hop from one overhead branch to the next, knocking snow down along their path.
They pay us no attention as they continue on their journey west, toward the storm-dark trees beyond the protected area.
Before the last one vanishes from sight, it turns around to stare at me.
Its face is almost curious. We lock eyes for a moment before a long tongue reaches out to lick its eyeballs like a frog.
It’s vision cleared, it leaps out of sight.
For a long while, I stare into the darkened forest where the fae disappeared. Tristan touches my elbow, and when I glance at him, he’s crouched low, nodding toward the opposite direction. That’s when I hear the grinding sound that echoes against the trees. I crouch beside him, on alert.
Through the underbrush, I catch sight of a giant moose. It rubs against a thick cedar tree, its muscles rippling beneath its hide. The animal must be eight feet tall, with antlers of ice-covered bone that top even that. It scrapes them high up on the tree and bark rains down like shattered glass.
Nothing in the south grows this big. My heart hammers in my chest.
Beside me, Tristan slides the bow from his shoulder and draws an arrow from his sling. To my surprise, he hands it to me.
I hesitate. He arches a brow and jerks his chin at me.
I take the arrow and pull my own bow off my shoulder.
Tristan grabs another one from the sling and draws it back with practiced ease, muscles flexing.
He nods for me to do the same. I study his hands, trying my best to ignore the shape of his strong fingers and the way he pulls the string of the bow back effortlessly.
My arms tremble as I knock my own arrow and draw the bowstring back. I hold my breath and steady my aim at our target. The tension in the string takes far more strength than I anticipated. My arm strains and my fingers grow white with effort as I try to hold position.
“On my count,” he whispers. “Three … two …”
I can’t hold the string back any longer.
The rope snaps back, stinging my wrist as the arrow slips through my fingers, arching wildly into the trees.
I stumble, losing my balance and crashing into Tristan.
His arrow, released in the chaos, strikes the moose high on its flank.
Tristan and I look up from our heap on the ground.
The moose bellows, a sound that seems to shake the ground beneath us. It rears back, its hooves digging into the snow. Then, instead of fleeing, it stops and turns in our direction. Steam bursts from its nostrils with each breath. Its brown eyes narrow in on us as it stomps the ground in fury.
Tristan shoves me off him and grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet. We break into a sprint.
Hooves pound behind us as we dart between trees.
The moose barrels after us, splintering branches with its massive antlers.
I veer left, trying to escape its path, but a sickening crack stops me cold.
I glance back, panic seizing my chest, as the moose tosses Tristan aside like he weighs nothing.
He hits the ground hard, rolls through the snow, then scrambles to his knees.
In one swift motion, Tristan draws another arrow and shoots. It bounces off the moose’s thick hide. The moose skids, hooves carving deep ruts into the frozen dirt. Then it turns, antlers lowered, preparing to charge straight at Tristan.
“Go, Red!” Tristan yells without taking his eyes off the animal.
But my feet are glued to the frozen ground. I can’t leave him in danger, that irritating, infuriating Wolf. Suddenly, I realize there might be another way.
I can’t outrun the moose or help Tristan from the ground. So, I look up. The snow-capped trees sway above us, and an idea strikes me. I toss aside my red cloak and scramble up the nearest spruce. Turns out, these leather breeches were a good idea after all.
Below, Tristan weaves between trees, the moose lumbering after him. He knocks another arrow, but the shot glances off an antler and vanishes into the trees.
Finally, I reach a long snow-covered branch and shake it.
Nothing happens.
I need better footing, and there’s only one way to get it. Higher. I grit my teeth and climb, muscles burning as I haul myself up past the next branch.
Then, I jump.
My boots slam onto a snow-covered limb, jarring it so hard it crashes into the neighboring tree. Then another. Branches sway in a chain reaction as snow drops in a thunderous hush. Snow falls like a curtain of white over the moose and Tristan below. It blinds them both, just long enough.
I unsheathe my sword and leap out of the tree—right onto the moose’s shoulders.
It’s disoriented in the whiteout, but it knows enough to try to knock me off. I hold tight, my thighs squeezing the animal’s neck as I loop one arm around an antler. It’s all I can do to hold on as it bucks.
Tristan rolls out of the way of the creature’s hooves. I swipe my sword toward the beast’s neck, but all I manage to do is slice its skin. At this angle, with only one available hand, it’s not enough.
With a curse, I throw the infernal weapon to the ground, then reach into my boot to retrieve my trusty knife. The silver blade flashes in the sun before I stab the creature in the neck, dragging my blade across its artery.
Blood gushes over the snow, turning the whiteout red.
The spray of warm blood coats my arm and face as the creature finally slows.
There’s just enough time for me to roll out of the way as its 2,000-pound body crashes to the ground with a thump.
The moose looks toward me with surprise, then the light fades from its eyes.
My hand instinctively reaches up to my own neck, touching the thin scar there. I just killed a creature the same way my father tried to kill me.
For a moment, all is silent.
“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t shoot a bow?” Tristan stomps toward me. His hair is a mess, and his face is red with fury. “Didn’t they teach you anything at that fancy palace?” His face is wild with anger.
I glower at him from my spot in the frozen mud. “Why would they when my father has guards watching me at all times?”
Tristan pinches the bridge of his nose before letting out a gruff sigh. “It’s like you’re a baby,” he mutters under his breath.
My face and arms are covered in blood, and I just took down a veritable giant. I may not know how to be a northerner, but I’m not a child. I seethe. “In case you failed to notice, I killed it.”
“And could have died in the process. That was stupid. And reckless.”
“And I saved your life. Again!”
We stare at each other for a long time before I start to piece things together.
He could have stopped the charging animal in a heartbeat if he truly thought he was about to die.
He’s a Wolf with immense shadow power. Heat flashes in my cheeks at the realization.
Now that the chaos is over, I see this exercise for what it was.
Training. Pure and simple.
He never bothered to use an ounce of shadow power, because we were never in real danger. What is one measly moose against a Wolf?
Tristan sighs. “Well, at least now I know where to start with you.”
“Meaning?” I cross my arms in front of me petulantly.
“The archery range.” His eyes dart around, looking for the discarded sword. He spots it a few feet away, then picks it up. “And we’ll need to work on sword basics.”
“Seems to me, I should stick with what I’m good at.” I twirl my moth blade in one blood-soaked hand.
After a moment, he holds out his hand to help me off the ground. I don’t take it. Instead, I get up on my own, even though my knees and hips crack in protest.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
Every muscle in my body aches. No doubt my skin will be speckled with bruises when we get back to the castle. Even my tailbone hurts.
“I’m fine.”
He holds up his palms in frustration. “I have no idea what to do with you.”
I glare at him as I retrieve my red cloak from the snow and stomp back toward the castle.