Chapter 22 #3
But Fenric nearly collapses again. His full weight slams into me, and I barely manage to stay upright.
"Gods," I gasp.
He's helping. Trying to walk. Trying to carry his share of the burden.
It doesn't matter.
He's enormous.
Every step feels like dragging a sack of stones through mud. My shoulders ache. My back burns. My legs shake beneath the combined weight of both of us.
"Just a little farther," I tell him.
I don't know if I'm talking to him or myself.
Fenric mumbles something I can't make out. Then his knees buckle. This time I can't hold him. We crash into the base of a tree together.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. For a second, I just sit there, staring into the smoke. Then tears spring into my eyes.
Desperate, hopeless tears. The kind that comes when you've run out of ideas. I don't know how to get us out of this. I don't know how to save Fenric. I don't know how to help Thorian. I don't know how to stop the warlocks from finding us.
The smoke thickens around us, carrying the scent of burning wood and sulfur. Somewhere in the distance, I hear voices. They’re not close, but not far enough away.
My pulse pounds. Think. Think. Think.
There has to be something. I can't outrun warlocks while half carrying a berserker twice my size. I can't fight them. I can't leave Fenric behind.
Then I remember my magic and how I’d used a bubble of magic to wrap around us. I could hide us from anything that might hurt us.
Hope sparks. It’s tiny and fragile, but it’s there.
I don't know if I can do it again. I’ve been moving non-stop all day. The swamp waters drained me a bit. I’m not in the best state to be trying magic. But it doesn't matter. If I don't try, the warlocks will find us. We don't have another choice.
"Fenric," I whisper.
He lifts his head slightly. His face looks awful. Pale. Exhausted. It’s the sort of exhausted that makes me wonder if he'll be able to stand again.
"I can help us. Just trust me, okay?"
Before he can ask what I mean, I push him back against the tree. His knees collapse, and he falls at the base of the tree. He lets out a startled noise, then looks up at me in confusion.
"I have an idea."
I drop to my knees in front of him, close enough that our legs touch.
The smoke curls around us. The forest groans.
The distant sounds of pursuit drift through the trees.
And for the first time in my life, I truly wish I knew what I was doing.
I wish I'd spent years learning my magic instead of hiding it.
I wish my parents hadn't feared it. I wish Ivor hadn't treated it like something dangerous that needed to stay buried.
If I'd practiced, if I'd learned, if I'd mastered it, maybe Thorian wouldn't be fighting alone. Maybe Fenric wouldn't be in danger. Maybe I would actually know how to save the people I care about.
Instead, all I have is instinct. Hope. And desperation.
I close my eyes, and the magic responds immediately.
It always does. Like a living thing stretching awake beneath my skin.
Warmth gathers in my chest and spreads outward.
It rushes through my arms and fingertips.
Tiny sparks dance beneath my flesh. The familiar bubbling sensation follows, like sunlight trapped beneath the surface of a pond.
Fear threatens to break my concentration. What if it doesn't work? What if the warlocks find us? What if Thorian never catches up?
The thoughts nearly shatter me. I force them away.
Not now. Right now, there is only one thing that matters. Fenric. Staying safe.
I picture the two of us wrapped inside a shield no one can penetrate. Safe from the smoke. Safe from the warlocks. Safe from the horrors of the Trials.
My magic surges. The air around us shimmers. Then the smoke begins to bend strangely around us. It doesn’t disappear, but it seems to avoid us. It curls away from our little pocket of space.
The air becomes easier to breathe. Cooler. Cleaner.
A faint, translucent ripple surrounds us, like sunlight dancing across water. My heart leaps. It's working. Gods help me. It's actually working.
His head falls back against the tree with a dull thud.
The muscles in his neck seem too exhausted to hold it upright any longer.
His eyes are half-lidded, struggling to stay open, and each breath comes slower than the one before it.
His chest rises heavily beneath his torn shirt, then sinks again, as though even breathing has become a task he has to consciously force himself to perform.
The sight sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
Fenric has always seemed so solid. So impossibly strong. Even after the swamp, even after collapsing half a dozen times, part of me kept expecting him to simply push through it because that's what people like him do.
But looking at him now, he doesn't seem strong.
He seems spent.
Drained.
Like the swamp reached inside him and took something vital with it.
His skin has gone pale beneath the dirt and sweat. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and the hand resting beside him trembles faintly every few seconds. If I didn't see his chest rising and falling, I might think he was dying.
As soon as we're safe, I know I need to get him something to eat. Something to drink. Something.
I squeeze my eyes shut and burrow closer to him, seeking comfort from the simple fact that he's still here.
The heat of his body presses against me, startling after the chill that settled into my bones in the swamp.
For a moment, I simply listen to him breathe, each slow inhale a reassurance that he's alive.
Still here.
Still fighting.
Not gone.
There's another explosion of fire in the distance. The sound rolls through the forest like thunder, followed by the crash of a falling tree. I flinch instinctively, my thoughts immediately turning to Thorian.
I hope he's okay.
He might be stronger than anyone I've ever met. Faster too. But is that enough against warlocks?
I don't know much about magic. Most people don't. But the way Fenric said the word earlier…warlocks, sent a chill through me. As though they were something especially dangerous.
Beside me, Fenric shifts slightly.
The movement seems to cost him.
"What happened?" he asks quietly.
His voice is rough. Weaker than usual.
I lift my head.
"What do you mean?"
His gaze drifts around our strange little pocket of clear air. The smoke continues to drift through the forest, but it bends around us, sliding away before it can touch us. The shimmer surrounding us is faint enough that I can only see it when I stop looking directly at it.
"This." His voice is barely more than a whisper. "One second we were running. Then you pushed me against a tree. Now the smoke won't come near us."
There’s a pause. "What is it?"
My stomach tightens. Of course he'd ask. Of course he'd want answers. The problem is that I don't have any good ones.
"We’re safe."