chapter six #2
The mist creates a timeless realm; its damp chill seeps into my bones, its eerie silence broken only by distant drips.
And although I know it can’t be true, the bells we’ve spent in the fog have stretched into what seems like days before it finally parts.
I glance around the barren landscape. If Llyr’s previous calculations are anything to go by, one third of our journey should now be behind us.
“Well done, boy.” I give Llyr’s stallion a pat on the neck.
He neighs, affirming his understanding, and turns his head to muzzle Llyr, who’s still slumped across the saddle.
“I will do my best to save him,” I promise.
Clear of the thick mist, I notice the pass has widened significantly.
My gaze glides from the bottom of the towering mountain until it disappears into the low-hanging cloud layer that always surrounds Bronich.
The stone is so smooth it seems polished.
Clearly, there are but two routes from here, and I’ve already promised Llyr I will not go back.
I turn toward the thick fog that guards the entrance to Bronich.
It turned gradually lighter again the past bell and is now a constantly shifting wall of indistinguishable gray.
Noticing a rocky outcrop, I lead the horses over to what looks to be a good place to get some respite from the wind.
I need to tend to Llyr’s wound, and I’d prefer for him to be shielded from the relentless wind as I do so.
I secure the horses to one of the short windswept trees that dominate the area—their leafless twisted branches creating an uncanny atmosphere—and pull Llyr down from his horse.
“Why,” I breathe, “must you be . . . so . . . heavy?” I drop him with a thump. “Sorry,” I mumble.
With a firm grip, I drag him toward the makeshift bed I made from the thick spare blanket that was rolled up behind his saddle and do my best to be gentle as I lay him down.
Kneeling next to him, I pull his clothing aside so I can get a better look at his wound, now that we’re out in the open.
Despite the tourniquet, the bandages are soaked with blood, and there’s a trail of crimson leading into the swirling wall of mist. I carefully unwrap the old bandages and examine the wound.
The bleeding hasn’t slowed. I bite down on my lip.
Should I cauterize the wound while he’s unconscious?
I’ve only seen it done once, but with all the bleeding, it may be my only option.
Rewrapping the wound with fresh strips of my underskirt, I send a silent prayer he’ll make it out of here.
I tuck his cape around him, and set out to gather some of the barren branches for firewood.
I’ve just decided that to seal his wound will be the wisest course of action if I want to bring him out of here alive when a bloodcurdling scream, sharp and piercing, shatters the silence.
The sudden fright causes the firewood in my arms to clatter to the ground.
I mutter a curse under my breath. What was that?
Another shrill scream ripples through the silence, but my view is blocked by the same outcrop that offers us shelter. Is that Maeve? Hoisting my skirts high, I sprint the last leg. I screech to a halt, and it takes every ounce of self-discipline to hold back a cry.
Wolves.
One by one, they emerge from the mist. Heads lowered, their gazes fixed on Llyr, they approach their unconscious prey with deliberate slowness.
If there’s one thing the people of Bronich fear almost as much as magic, it’s wolves.
Every so often, whole packs will come into town, ripping throats, leaving dozens of dead in their wake.
I’ve even heard they snatch newborn babies at times, if left unattended.
I stagger a couple steps backward.
Maeve snorts and stamps, the whites of her eyes visible as they roll back.
She lets out another shrill cry, causing the enormous wolf I decide must be the pack leader to snap toward her.
With a forceful shake of her head, her hooves dancing in the air, she snaps their ropes as she pulls herself loose.
Llyr’s stallion hardly seems as worked up as Maeve, but Maeve, in her frenzy, pulls him along as she sets off.
With outstretched arms, I step out into their path, determined not to let them run away, but when Maeve rears—her hooves coming dangerously close to my face—I have little choice but to fling myself aside as they storm past, the sound of their thundering hooves reverberating through the pass.
A quick glance at their retreating backsides is all I can spare before I bring my focus to the wolves circling Llyr’s unconscious body.
I count thirteen of them, their eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity in the dim light, anticipation radiating from them like heat.
They all look poised, ready to attack, but it’s also clear they’re holding back.
I glance toward the alpha. Are they awaiting his command before feasting?
I draw in a breath of the cool air and take a step forward.
This is undoubtedly the culmination of every poor choice I’ve ever made.
Yet I cannot stand idly by. Llyr saved my life.
I owe him this, at the very least. I cannot, will not, let these wolves devour him.
Mustering every ounce of courage within me, I force myself to project an air of confidence.
Standing tall with a wide, steady stance and my chin lifted, I do my best to appear larger, more threatening than I feel.
Clutching the black dagger in my pocket—noting its faint vibration—I swallow hard and step forward. “Stop,” I command, focusing on their alpha, his beautiful coat a combination of various shades of gray, ranging from pale silver to deep charcoal.
“He . . . He is not yours to take.” My voice echoes back to me in the silence, and thirteen pairs of piercing yellow eyes turn in my direction.
Did they not notice me until now? Or could they not be bothered with me when they had easier prey at hand?
I lock eyes with the alpha, baring my teeth ever so slightly, praying my knees won’t give in.
The alpha’s unwavering gaze locks with mine, but I don’t yield. I’m not sure I could even if I wanted to. I feel as immobile as a statue.
“I said no.” My voice remains steady, betraying my nervousness only with the faintest tremor. Holding my gaze, he cocks his head, and I’m taken aback by the unexpected wisdom and intelligence shining through his predatory gaze. “Please,” I beg. “Let him be.”
Whether he understands me or not, I don’t know. He just keeps staring at me with his unblinking gaze. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound prompting the rest of the pack to gather behind him.
My gaze jumps from the pack to Llyr and back again. They’re all staring at me.
The alpha walks over to where Llyr lies on the ground. He nudges his limp body.
I frown, trying to make sense of the gesture.
The nudge isn’t aggressive—it’s almost .
. . purposeful. He looks back at me, then down at Llyr again, as if trying to tell me something.
My mind races. If he wanted to kill Llyr, he would have done it already.
Instead, he’s drawing my attention to him, waiting for me to . . .
My breath catches. “You want me to . . . help him?”
The alpha lies down with an audible sigh. Paws crossed, he rests his head, eyes fixed on me. An expectant stillness settles over the pack, though I’m not fooled by their relaxed postures.
Keeping a wary eye on the wolves, I edge forward a few more steps, and seeing no immediate reaction, I quietly approach.
The alpha lifts his head from his paws as I kneel next to Llyr. Ears perked forward, his amber eyes assess me. I remove the blanket and pull Llyr’s clothing aside. My stomach plummets as a cold dread washes over me. His makeshift bandage is yet again a deep crimson color.
Warm air, redolent with musky fur and damp earth, brushes my neck. Spinning around, I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a scream at the sight of the enormous alpha wolf now looming behind me.
Every muscle tense, I sit perfectly still, hearing only the wolf’s soft sniffs and the drumming of my own heart as it investigates me. Seemingly satisfied, he turns his attention back to Llyr. He pushes his still form with his snout once again, then looks back toward me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll help him,” I say.
Sitting back on his haunches, the alpha unleashes a spine-tingling howl that prompts a chorus from the others. My hair prickles as a wave of chilling, haunting cries washes over me. Their combined sound is both unsettling and strangely moving, resonating deep within my chest.
The alpha bows his head toward me, then, with a powerful bounce, muscles rippling beneath his silvery coat, he disappears back into the swirling mist, the rest of the pack following suit.
I stare at the blank wall of mist. What just happened? I shake my head, blinking. Am I so tired I’ve started imagining things?
The sound of Llyr whimpering quickly pulls me out of the haze I’m in.
Whatever just happened, Llyr’s injury is still very much real, and he’s possibly paler than before.
His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, and more whimpers escape his lips.
I leap out of the way as he tosses himself to the side.
If it’s a result of a dream or pain, I don’t know, but he keeps tossing and turning, loosening his long hair from its tight, careful bind.
I kneel back down next to him. “We’ll be fine.” I stroke his long hair back from his face. “You will be fine,” I add, echoing his words to me back to him.
I cock my head.
What is that?
I study the delicately pointed ear peeking out from his long hair. It’s human size, but with its top shaped like a leaf, if slightly more rounded. It doesn’t look like any human ear I’ve seen. Could it be a defect?
I tilt his head over to the other side to see if it’s the same.
It is. I frown. I’ve known him for years.
How have I never noticed this before? I try to visualize what he usually looks like when I see him, his long hair bound at the nape of his neck.
That’s it. He always has his ears covered.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen his ears before.
But . . . does this mean he’s not human?
My hand trembles as I lift his upper lip, revealing his teeth. Fangs!
Staggering backward, I land on my backside. First the wolves and now this. The old man sure has some explaining to do.
Pushing to my feet, I shake my limbs to regain some warmth. One thing is for certain: I’m not a murderer, and without a fire, we’ll both freeze to death. And I still need to cauterize that gaping wound.
Making sure to stay close to Llyr this time, I set out to gather another armful of the dry branches.
There’s a part of me that desperately needs to confront the whirlwind of the last few days, while the other wants to bury it deep inside, ignoring it all.
I glance over at Llyr. I need him to wake, if only so he can provide me with answers.
He’s hiding something—that much is obvious.
I retrieve the flint from my satchel and arrange the dry branches in a small pile. It takes several strikes before a spark catches, but eventually, the kindling smolders and then flares to life.
With the fire established, I kneel next to him, doing my best to clean the wound using our sparse water supply. Adding a couple more branches to the fire, I take a moment to savor its precious heat before I get to work.
Grabbing one of Llyr’s knives from his belt, I place the blade in the fire, getting it as hot as I can.
Then I wrap my hand with a piece of cloth so I won’t get burned as I lift it by the hilt.
Squeezing Llyr’s wound shut with one hand, I bring the glowing red-hot blade down, praying he won’t wake from the pain.
I cringe at the sizzling sound it makes, pressing down a gag as the acrid odor of burnt flesh reaches my nose.
It’s an odor I’m all too familiar with. Llyr’s lack of reaction is reassuring yet concerning.
I’m relieved he doesn’t seem to notice the pain, but it’s also an indication of his profound unconscious state.
Satisfied with my work, I lean back on my heels. The wound still oozes a little blood, but I’m sure the bandage will keep it in check until we’re out of the pass and Llyr’s body can heal itself again. Oh, how I wish I had Mrs. Cooker’s healing balm in my satchel. That one works wonders.
I perk up. I do, however, have the hare in there.
Retrieving the hare from my satchel, I quickly gut and skin it, then skewer it on a sharpened branch. Holding it over the flames, I rotate it until the meat is cooked through, the surface brown and crisp.
I hold the waterskin to Llyr’s lips. Drink, old man.
I don’t want to waste what little water we have left, but it’s hard to get water into someone who’s unconscious, and most of it makes its way down his cheeks.
Curling up next to him, sharing our body heat, I eat a piece of the grilled hare myself, then wash it down with a small amount of water.
Given the situation, I want to limit both my food and water intake.
There’s no telling how long we’ll be trapped in here with no provisions, and only the Father knows what it’ll be like on the other side. It could be a wasteland for all I know.
After cleaning the rest of the meat from the bones, I wrap the meat in a cloth to save for later and use the bones to make a bone broth for Llyr. He needs all the strength he can get.
I glance at the eerie, silent mist, barely visible now that night is approaching.
Although I’d like nothing more than to sleep, I also want to put as much distance behind me as possible.
Grinding my teeth against the cold, I wrap Llyr in his wool cape and decide to use his spare blanket as a makeshift sleigh.
After strapping him to the blanket with his belt, I grab its edges and begin pulling him behind me.
Setting one foot in front of the other, I move at what feels like a snail’s pace, but at least I’m moving.
I wipe my forehead to prevent the sweat from trickling into my eyes.
Llyr is heavy. At least the center of the pass offers a relatively flat stretch of ground, making pulling him and staying on course in the dark slightly less treacherous.
Wrapping my cape across Llyr, I take a rationed sip of water before picking the edges of his sleigh back up and continuing onward.
You will not die in here, La?na. And neither will Llyr.
“You owe me some answers, old man,” I grunt through clenched teeth as I push forward.