Chapter 20
Nyx
“So, we need a plan,” I say, turning away from the knights and honing in on Fenric and Thorian. My heart pounds for the men in the water, but I do my best to focus on our team.
The Hollow Blades, the four armored knights, are already testing the swamp. Beyond them, I catch glimpses of the vampire team lingering at the tree line and the warlocks watching from farther back, each group waiting to see what happens.
Maybe, if the Hollow Blades make it across in one piece, we'll be able to do the same ourselves.
But what's more likely is a swath of beasts, perhaps water or swamp versions of what we saw before, will come out and swallow them whole. I think of large, slimy alligators, electric bone eels, fish with huge, gaping maws that could scoop you inside and drag you beneath the moss and brackish water.
Fenric suddenly squints out over the swamp.
"Uh... were those there before?"
All three of us turn.
At first, I don't see what he's talking about. Then something breaks the surface of the water.
A rock.
Then another.
Then another.
Across the swamp, small stone platforms slowly rise from beneath the murky water.
Some are only large enough for a single person to stand on comfortably.
Others might fit two or three if they didn't mind being pressed together.
Water cascades down their sides as they emerge, sending ripples across the surface.
The entire swamp seems to hold its breath.
"Oh," I say.
The platforms continue appearing farther and farther into the distance, creating a rough path toward the opposite shore.
"Well," Fenric says, "that's suspicious."
"Everything here is suspicious."
"Fair point."
Thorian leans closer to us and speaks more quietly. “The platforms are the route. The gods waited until everyone gathered here before revealing them.”
I study the stones more closely. The problem becomes obvious almost immediately.
"They're too far apart."
Thorian nods.
Some of the platforms are only a few feet from each other. Others are separated by stretches of water long enough that no one could simply step across.
To reach the next stone, we'd have to wade through the water. Sometimes it’s only a short distance. Sometimes it’s a longer distance. Either way, we'd be entering the swamp if we have any chance of getting to the other side.
“Which means we're still getting wet,” Fenric says.
Thorian doesn’t look happy. “Unfortunately.”
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“No.”
I follow the line of platforms with my gaze. They zigzag through the swamp, disappearing into patches of fog before reappearing farther out. Several tilt slightly to one side. Others look slick with algae.
“Even if the water doesn't kill us,” I say, “it would be easy to slip.”
“That's the point,” Thorian replies. “The gods don't want a bridge. They want an obstacle course.”
We discuss the rocks for a minute. They're small, smooth, and wet.
It would be easy to lose your footing and tumble into the swamp.
To cross from one to another, all three of us will have to move carefully, choosing our route as we go.
In this way, we could make it just on the platforms in certain areas, but definitely not across the whole thing.
No matter what, we’ll have to go in the water, and we have no idea what waits for us there.
I can't stop myself from glancing at the knights, waiting for any signs that the water might conceal hidden threats.
Two of the knights, Sir Willem and Sir Beric, I think, have altered course and are heading toward the nearest platform.
But the third, Sir Cedric, continues pushing straight through the swamp, stubbornly aiming for the opposite shore.
At first, I don't understand why they're changing direction.
The platforms are smaller targets. More difficult to reach.
Then I really look at the men in the water, and a sick feeling settles in my stomach.
They entered the swamp a few minutes ago.
They should be wet, muddy, and tired. Instead, they look as though they've spent months starving in a dungeon.
Willem staggers through the water, his armor hanging strangely from his body.
His movements have lost all the confidence he'd displayed when he first marched into the swamp.
Every step seems to require conscious effort.
Beside him, Beric isn't faring much better.
His cheeks have hollowed inward. The skin beneath his eyes has darkened.
Even from this distance, I can see exhaustion weighing him down like chains.
"What’s happening to them?" I whisper.
Nobody answers.
Nobody can.
The swamp is draining them. It’s stripping away more than their strength. It reaches deeper than that, down to whatever makes them who they are.
As Willem reaches the nearest platform, he doesn't climb onto it so much as collapse across it. Beric follows moments later, dragging himself onto the stone with trembling arms. Both men lie there gasping for breath, their chests heaving violently.
Sunlight breaks through the clouds overhead and falls across them.
The sight turns my stomach. Beric's hair is coming out.
Entire clumps cling to his shoulders and armor.
More remain tangled in his fingers where he's apparently been pulling at it without realizing.
Beneath it, his scalp shines pale and mottled.
Willem looks older.
Noticeably older.
Wrinkles crease his face where none existed before. The skin around his neck hangs loose. His eyes have sunk deep into their sockets, making him look less like a knight and more like an old man nearing the end of his life.
"Oh gods," Fenric breathes.
His voice sounds hollow.
Around us, every team has gone silent. The vampires. The shifters. The warlocks. Everyone stands frozen along the shoreline. Watching. Imagining themselves in that water.
Meanwhile, Sir Cedric continues forward.
At first, I admire him for it. He keeps moving despite everything. His shoulders stay squared. His gaze remains fixed on the opposite shore. Every step looks agonizing, but he takes it anyway.
The farther he goes, the more terrifying the transformation becomes. His armor begins to sag against his frame. His movements grow slower and slower until every step looks like a battle against his own body.
Still, he keeps going.
The distance to the opposite shore shortens. The distance behind him grows. For one terrible moment, hope sparks inside me. Maybe he'll make it.
Maybe if he pushes hard enough…
Cedric suddenly tears his helmet from his head and hurls it into the swamp. The splash echoes across the water. The gesture isn't angry. It's desperate. The helmet has become too heavy.
A murmur spreads through the competitors gathered along the shore. Cedric bows forward, struggling beneath a weight nobody else can see. When he raises his head again, I nearly gag.
His hair is gone. What remains of his skin clings tightly to the shape of his skull. His neck looks impossibly thin. His eyes appear enormous inside their sockets, the flesh around them having wasted away.
He resembles a corpse.
A walking corpse still trying to finish a race.
"Help me!" he screams.
The sound cuts through the swamp. Every conversation dies. Every head turns.
"Help me!"
The second scream is worse. Raw. Terrified. Human.
I take an involuntary step forward before I can stop myself. As though I could help him. As though any of us could.
"Please!"
The word breaks apart in his throat. His voice is changing. Aging.
The youthful strength disappears from it. The sound grows weaker. Older. More fragile. Every cry seems to scrape against whatever remains of him.
Then he stumbles. One knee plunges into the water.
The entire shoreline tenses.
He remains there. Half submerged. Shaking. Then somehow he forces himself upright again. The sight hurts more than if he'd given up. Because he's still trying. Still fighting. Still clawing toward the opposite shore despite knowing exactly what the swamp is doing to him.
The water steals another piece of him.
And another.
And another.
Soon his screams become long, mournful moans that drift across the water like funeral bells. The sound settles over the swamp and wraps itself around everyone gathered there. I don't think I'll ever forget it as long as I’ll live, and I know I’m going to try to forget it. To forget this moment.
Meanwhile, the platform beneath Willem and Beric begins to sink.
At first, neither man notices. Then Willem looks down and lets out a panicked shout. Both knights scramble to their feet. The stone descends steadily beneath them, forcing them to leap for the next platform.
They barely make it.
The first stone vanishes beneath the water moments later with a wet gurgling sound. The message is clear. Keep moving. Or die.
The gods haven't given them a safe path.
They've given them a choice between different kinds of suffering.
Beside me, Thorian's jaw tightens. Fenric has gone pale.
As for me, I can barely breathe. Because sooner or later, we're going into that swamp too.
And when we do, it won't care who we are. Not Thorian. Not Fenric. Not me.
Silently, all the teams watch as Sir Cedric's body finally slips beneath the black water.
He’d almost reached the other side. Almost.
Nobody moves. The swamp ripples where he vanished, disturbed only briefly before becoming still once more.
It's that stillness that unnerves me most. No blood rises to the surface.
No remains. No final sign that a man just died there.
The swamp simply swallows him and carries on existing, indifferent to the life it consumed.
A low curse drifts from somewhere among the gathered competitors. Nobody laughs. Nobody boasts. The spectacle the gods wanted has achieved its purpose. We're all imagining ourselves in his place. We’re all… afraid.