Chapter Four
Titus glares furiously. “You stupid girl.”
I step back from the force of his vehemence. “I just . . . I—”
“I must do this alone.”
I lower my head, feeling as small and weak as I ever did in that cage. “But I can’t.”
“You found a horse, I see. And managed to track me here. You can fend for yourself.”
I wish he were right. “If I were in better shape, maybe. But I have no idea where I am . . . I mean, besides somewhere on
the king’s road. I’ve never been away from home for so long. I have a bad shoulder. I’m too weak to run if I encounter ice
cats or bandits. I don’t have enough food to hide somewhere while I heal. I need help. I need your help. Let me travel with you. Just until we find the nearest safe place. I won’t be any trouble, I swear it. I’ll earn my
keep every way I can.”
He says nothing, just stands there, a barely discernable shape in the darkness. He could almost be a ghost.
“You went to so much trouble to free me,” I prompt. “Do you really want to let me die?”
“I didn’t do it to save you.”
I don’t believe him. “Then why did you?”
“None of your godsdamned business.” But his posture has shifted. He leans casually against his bow, like it’s a walking stick. It gives me hope.
“I promise not to ask any personal questions if you just let me travel with you.”
“Otherwise, what? You’ll hound my back with relentless conversation?”
“Try me. I’m an innkeeper’s daughter. I can talk to anyone, under any circumstances.”
It’s too dark to see his face, but I would almost swear that he smiles. Still, he makes me wait an eternity for an answer.
He sighs. “Come along, then. No rabbit tonight. You’ll have to eat some of the food I left you.”
“Thank you.” I grab Apple’s reins and follow him into the shadows.
“How did you find me?” he asks as we walk. “I left no trail.”
“If I don’t get to ask questions, you don’t either.”
The tree trunks break wide to reveal his small campsite. The fire is tiny; it’s a wonder I saw it from so far away. His Thordin
stallion nickers in greeting.
“Tether your mount there, away from Blackwind. He needs time to get to know strange horses.”
Blackwind strikes me as a hackneyed name for a horse, but I comply without comment, and give my unromantically named Apple
a thorough drink from my waterskin, along with a few carrots. The carrots are rubbery and dry and won’t last much longer anyway.
Titus crawls back into his bedroll without giving me the slightest indication that he knows I’m here.
“Should we set a watch?” I ask.
“No. Go to sleep.”
So that’s what I do. Once again, I’m asleep in moments.
I wake to a large hand jostling my shoulder. “Don’t make a sound,” Titus whispers.
I sit up at once. The sky brightens with dawn. Fog curls through the tree trunks, smothering the forest floor. In the distance,
a mountain jay caws. Its voice echoes through the trees and then falls as silent as death.
“Mistwraiths,” he whispers.
Oh, gods.
He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “If they come near, do not gaze upon them,” he mutters, fast and low. “They
will try to provoke you to fear or rage or some kind of passion. It’s what they feed on. So don’t look.”
I nod up at him. Everyone born to these mountains knows this.
“If you can, think about something that makes you happy. A good memory. It will make you unappetizing to them.” He stands
and walks away.
“Where are you going?” It comes out like the pitiful squeak of a cornered mouse.
Titus does not turn around, and I barely hear when he says, “Away.” He steps across our now-dead campfire and disappears into
the fog-drenched trees.
I stare after him, feeling shocked and betrayed. Maybe this is his way of getting rid of me. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed
that no-good son of a hairy goat after all.
It hits me that my thoughts are already being influenced by the wraiths. Of course it’s better to face them alone, lest they use your companions against you. I pull my knees to my chest, wrap my good arm around them, and close my eyes.
Sure enough, even sightless, I sense them coming. They are cold fingers of fog, creeping toward me. They are caresses of a
lover about to betray. They are scathing whispers of someone you thought was a friend. Don’t you want to know? Don’t you want to see?
I need a good memory. Something that made me happy.
Cold, soft tendrils tickle my throat, stroking, coaxing. They slip down my chest, slither across my breasts, wrap around my
waist. Terror wells inside me.
A good memory, a good memory, a good . . . Anja. On the promontory overlooking the creek. The stonemason’s son cornered her
up there. She had nowhere to run as he reached around with both hands and squeezed her rear. I sprinted toward them, desperate
to protect my little sister, but I needn’t have bothered. Anja calmly bent down, picked a stink bug off the ground, waved
it in front of his nose, and then put it in her mouth and chewed. She grinned up at him, her teeth black with mangled carapace,
and the mason’s son backed away so fast he stumbled and fell, breaking his tailbone. We laughed about it for days.
I concentrate on that moment. The relief I felt. The admiration for my sister’s quick thinking. The cold tendrils slip away.
The whispers cease.
After a moment, I dare to crack open my eyes.
They’re still there, wavery in the rising sun, slithering like ghosts across the landscape. They float away from me, four of them, terrifyingly beautiful in their gossamer rags and flowing white hair. I can’t look away.
One looks over his shoulder at me. He is vaguely familiar, with fog lines hinting at a sharp jaw and muscled shoulders. He
smiles, a slow leer that sends shivers along my spine. The others move on, but he lingers. My gaze is locked on his ephemeral
features. It feels wrong, a humanlike face pasted on this wispy monster. I lean forward, peering closer, needing to understand. . . .
Too late, I realize my mistake. His smile opens into a black maw of hunger, and he races toward me.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Anja. The stink bug. The stonemason’s son, cracking his rear. The hearth fire on a snowy day. Giggling
together under the covers in the attic. The first yellow daffodils of spring. Anja, Anja, Anja.
I wait a very long time before daring to open my eyes again. When I do, the sun is high and there is no trace of fog.
I am safe. But disquiet darkens my soul. I knew exactly what to do, and yet I nearly succumbed.
Titus is nowhere to be seen, but his stallion is still here.
“Titus?” I call. What if the wraiths got to him, the way they almost got to me?
I follow his path into the trees, calling his name. I’ve heard all the stories. I know what happens when a mistwraith feeds.
They leave nothing but husks behind, icy cold. And sometimes, when the person fed upon is particularly strong or passionate,
he’ll reappear in the mist, as ethereal and ravenous as the creature that killed him.
“Titus!” I yell, and something moves to the right. A shape huddled in the shade.
I drop down beside him. He’s curled tight into a ball, forehead on his knees, rocking slightly. I put a hand to the back of his neck. Ice cold.
Is he too far gone? “Titus?”
He does not respond.
If Titus doesn’t survive, neither do I. It’s as simple as that. My fear makes me furious.
I whack the back of his head. “On your feet, you son of a hairy goat.”
He raises his head, blinks at me.
“If you follow me back to the campfire, I’ll make you some hot tea.”
Slowly he uncurls, gains his feet.
Relief hits so hard I’m almost dizzy with it. Or maybe I’m just hungry. “It was bad for you, yes?”
“Yes,” he chokes out. He shores himself up with a deep breath. “You?”
“Yes. But I had good memories to hold on to.”
“Mine didn’t work,” he murmurs, half to himself.
“What?”
“My memory. The one I’ve been using to survive these mountains. It didn’t work. I had to . . . find another.” His face is
pale, and he shivers.
“Let’s get you warm,” I say, and he nods.
Together we stumble back to camp. He collapses onto his log and lets his face fall into his hands. As I bend to coax the embers
into flame, I say, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Unsurprisingly, there is no response, and a while later, we share our tea in silence.