Chapter 17 #2
"We'll need to get to the water," I say, turning and closing my eyes, trusting my nose to lead us to it. It's different every time, the rivers and streams that run through the land, but we'll find one. "Find a stream and follow it. Hopefully, there are canteens in that bag we found."
Nyx nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.
I think about saying something. Commemorating the fact that we’re still alive, which is honestly farther than I expected we'd get after running into bone serpents and dire wolves so early. But even I don’t want to tempt the gods to that degree.
I sling the bag off my shoulder and rummage through it as we start walking.
Relief washes through me when my hand closes around two leather canteens.
I pull them free before taking a quick inventory of the rest of the contents.
An assortment of supplies fills the bag, all of which will no doubt prove useful in the Trials.
After making sure my sword is secure at my waist, I sniff the air again and start walking. Together, we set off through the forest.
The woods are anything but peaceful. Strange calls echo through the canopy overhead.
Every so often, a distant roar or growl rolls between the trees, reminding me that the creatures we encountered on the mountainside are only the beginning.
Several times, both of us go still as unseen creatures crash through the distant underbrush.
The forest itself seems alive.
Not merely growing, but watching.
Vines twist around trunks thick enough that five men couldn't circle them. Massive flowers bloom among the roots, their petals larger than shields. Shafts of sunlight spill through the canopy in brilliant columns of gold, illuminating drifting motes of pollen and mist.
Despite the danger surrounding us, the place possesses an unsettling beauty.
The light catches in Nyx's dark hair as she walks ahead of me, her attention fixed on the terrain. She's clearly trying to remember everything I taught her during training. Watching for tracks. Listening for movement. Looking for signs of water.
If I didn't know better, and if the distant sounds of monsters weren't constantly reminding me where we were, I might almost forget we're participating in a competition designed to kill us.
Almost. But not quite.
It’s an hour into our walk when I become aware of someone following along behind us. Whoever is following us is good. They’re so quiet I don’t hear them. So subtle as they move through the forest, they’re almost like one of the animals. Most competitors would've missed their presence entirely.
The first clue is the birds.
Every so often, a cluster takes flight somewhere behind us. Not close enough to be an immediate threat. Not far enough to be coincidence. Then there's the occasional rustle of undergrowth that comes a heartbeat too late after we've passed through an area.
A shadow moving through the forest.
Following our path.
I keep listening as we walk, paying more attention to what's behind us than what's ahead. The sounds come and go, sometimes disappearing for several minutes before returning again.
One person. Moving carefully. Trying not to be noticed.
Not a monster, then. At least not the kind with claws.
Rather than alerting Nyx, I let the stranger trail us. If they're following, they'll eventually make a mistake. Most people do. And when it’s the right time, I’ll tell Nyx.
When we stop beside a small stream to refill our canteens, it finally happens.
A branch bends. Not breaks. Bends.
The subtle sound comes from the trees behind us. It’s close. Too close.
My hand is already on my sword before the movement fully registers.
“Don’t!”
Nyx’s voice stills my hand, and I stop the sword just a breath from the berserker’s throat.
I stand, frozen by her command, thinking I’m an idiot for listening to her. Her reluctance to kill will result in our own deaths.
“Fenric,” she says, arriving at my side a second later, her small hand landing on the crook of my elbow, “you’re alive!”
He nods, but doesn’t take his eyes off the sword in my hand.
“Put the sword down,” Nyx says, tugging on my arm, which doesn’t move. It’s one thing not to lop his head off, it’s another to lower my weapon completely. As if I could be so stupid.
“He saved my life, Thorian. Just like you did with the dire wolf.”
“Oh, is that so?” An unpleasant twist of jealousy and irritation works through me, and I do my best to keep it from showing.
Why do I hate the note of admiration in her voice? As if it matters to me what she thinks of some other man. Some berserker.
“He did,” Nyx says, a sharp edge entering her voice as she tugs on my arm again.
I sweep my gaze over this Fenric. He’s dirty, looking like he at one point plunged into water and re-emerged, his loose clothing stiff, his hair limp. In his left hand he holds a staff to the side.
When he walked into the clearing, he wasn't planning to attack. That much is obvious by how easily I could've killed him.
Fenric raises both hands slightly.
“Easy,” he says. “I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. Well, I was, but only because I wasn't sure how you'd react to finding me behind you.”
Despite the situation, he offers Nyx a sheepish smile.
“My teammate didn't make it down the mountain,” he says. “So it's just me now.”
The implication of that hangs heavy in the air. The gods themselves already made it clear that people could join other teams. And he can’t win without one.