38. Blood in the Snow
Blood in the Snow
Once I hit the bottom of the pit, I scurry to the far shadows in case someone peers down into the sinkhole. Steeped in darkness, chest heaving, I look up at the jagged opening as though I might see something (or someone) in the wash of gray sky above.
“Tage,” I breathe, my heart crashing against my ribs.
Soon the world shudders, rocking all around me, and I know it’s them: dragons landing with heavy thuds. Jostled, I adjust my footing, squaring my stance, arms wide out at my sides as I shift for balance.
Is it the skelm? Sour fear sloshes in my belly at the idea, at the dreaded, awful probability.
They are the ones who destroyed my village. I can still see that poor woman tossed into the sky like a rag doll, devoured in snapping jaws. Bile surges to my throat at the memory. They were also the ones who killed Bertine and her entire village. Who knows how many lives they’ve destroyed.
As much as I would like to believe Tage is safe among them, Tage is not one of them. Dragon or not, by his own avowal, he is nothing like them. He rejected their way of life and they exiled him for it.
Holding my breath, I strain to listen, soon realizing I don’t have to. They’re close. They speak clearly enough for me to hear.
“My, my, Tage, you’re all grown up,” a guttural voice calls out in greeting. “Right fucking beast, you are. A proper onyx. Such a waste of talent.”
Evidently, they’ve turned into their human forms. There’s that at least. They didn’t remain in dragon form and devour Tage in one gulp.
Tage’s voice reaches my ears, strong . . . dry and unaffected, as though a reunion with these dragons is of no consequence to him even though I know he’s always taken pains to avoid them. “Time has a way of doing that.”
“Time has a way of changing a great many things, but since you’ve never seen fit to come around and return to your pride and take your place as a proper solider among us, I can assume you haven’t changed that much and you’re still the same little twat, too afraid to get your hands dirty with the work that needs to be done. ”
I flinch, wondering if the one speaking is Kaldr, the leader of the skelm . . . the one always referenced in scathing tones.
A beat passes before Tage replies. “I’m still not interested in following you, Kaldr. If that’s what you’re asking.”
And I have my answer. It is the infamous brutal leader who kills humans indiscriminately, as though we—they?
—are cockroaches in need of elimination.
This group of dragons who resents the loss of the old ways, who despises witchkind—me—for cursing them into a weaker mold of themselves.
Suddenly, I’m grateful to be hiding at the bottom of a hole.
I only wish I could be even farther away.
I only wish Tage and I could both be far away.
“Aye. I thought as much.” The voice rings out with casual resignation.
As though Tage is no more than a troublesome child who strayed from home and who now holds little interest for these dragons.
I hope that is the case. The tension ebbs from my shoulders a bit at this hope. Maybe they will simply move on and—
“As touching as this reunion is, we’re hunting quarry. Maybe you can be of assistance.”
I tense anew. What quarry? Elk perhaps? Battle boars?
“What quarry?” Tage asks.
Yes. What quarry?
“We caught the scent of a witch. Festin here has an excellent nose.” I cover my mouth with both hands to stifle my gasp. “Ever since we had a witch among us a couple years ago, he is very sensitive to their smell. He can sniff out their kind from miles away.”
I glance around wildly, contemplating how I might disguise my scent. Can I use my bare hands to bury myself beneath snow? Would that do the trick?
“And this one is bleeding,” another voice adds—presumably Festin. “I could smell her stink for miles.”
My gaze turns in horror to my arm. The wound has stopped bleeding, but blood saturates the fabric. I cover my mouth, smothering any sound from escaping.
“I haven’t seen a witch,” Tage speaks up. “Maybe your nose is wrong.”
“She is close,” the voice insists with confidence. “I can smell her.”
“You wouldn’t be lying to us, would you, Tage?” Kaldr’s voice is deceptively mild, but an undercurrent of threat hums in the question.
“We can’t trust him,” the one I believe to be Festin hisses.
“Why would I lie about that? I have no reason to protect a witch,” Tage defends.
Footsteps crunch and thud overhead, and I can’t breathe as I wait, straining to hear the next voice. The longer I wait, the sicker I feel, and I push a hand against my stomach to quell the upheaval there.
Suddenly there are several loud thumps and grunts. Thrashing noises. I move forward anxiously, peering up at the hole as I step from the shadows, desperate to know what’s happening. I bite my lip to keep from calling out to Tage.
Voices overlap. Curses fly. More grunts and growls, and I make out Tage’s exclamations under it all . . . his guttural cries and broken words, threats issued even if he’s in no position to carry them out, not outnumbered as he is.
My heart lodges in my throat, a beating pulse. I look around wildly, panicked, desperate to get out of this pit, desperate to help him, to save him.
“You didn’t think we were just going to say hello and let you go on your way, did you?
” All mildness has left Kaldr’s voice. “You’re not a child anymore.
We assumed you would perish on your own.
Really, we are quite shocked you survived.
Whatever the case, you’re this now. A threat, and we don’t let threats go.
You’re either with us . . . or against us.
Count yourself lucky you got to live this long. It’s more than you deserve.”
They’re going to kill him.
No. No. No.
The harpies’ words come back to me then, circling, weaving like smoke through me. You’re hardly helpless. You should have no problem getting yourself out of this hole.
I’m not helpless.
I’m a witch.
I close my eyes and whisper this fervently to myself, over and over, fighting to believe it, to know it, to feel it: “You’re not helpless. You’re not helpless. You’re not helpless. You’re not helpless.”
I’m not weak. I cast a spell that spanned a decade, that held over the years, that affected countless people, blinded them to the sight of me. I am the opposite of weak. I am powerful. I can get out of this stupid hole.
The harpies’ words return to me then: Give it voice and put it out there into the universe and your magic will answer the call.
I don’t allow myself to contemplate what I will do once I’m out, once I’m above ground. I only know that Tage is up there, hurting, in trouble, and he needs help.
He needs me.
I’m not going to stay down in this pit while he’s up there dying.
I jam my eyes tighter, my lips moving rapidly as the mantra continues to trip off my lips in a barely there murmur. Get me out of this hole. Get me out of this hole.
Suddenly it’s colder. A chill wind envelops me. My eyes flutter open, and I’ve moved. I’m standing above ground, and it’s chaos.
Naked warriors, a half dozen, clump in a tight group, something—someone—at their center as they punch, claw, kick in the eerie glow of the moon. At least they haven’t shifted into their dragons. Not that they are diminutive. They’re inhumanly big, muscled behemoths. All nearly as big as Tage.
Blood is in the air. Tage’s blood. The copper taste fills my mouth.
I shout, “Stop! Stop it!”
Two glance over, stepping back to survey me, granting me a glimpse of Tage in the midst of them, crouched like a feral animal, snarling and swiping at those still attacking him. Purple blood glimmers on his skin, oozing from his nose and lips and several open wounds.
He doesn’t see me yet. He’s still fighting back against three warriors who have not yet noticed me.
“Leave him alone!”
This time they all look at me. Even Tage looks up at me, his eyes large and glazed bright with pain in his bloodied face.
“Arden!” he cries, his kaleidoscopic eyes flashing. “No!” Dread and desperation vibrate in the boom of that single word. That and more.
I hear everything he’s not saying, see everything he’s communicating with his wild gaze. Don’t do this. Don’t be here. Run. Go. Flee.
I ignore him. I don’t move. I can’t. I face them all . . . determined to do for Tage what I know he would do for me. I’ve failed others, everyone else I loved.
I won’t fail him.
They all approach me, a great, menacing wall of flesh rippling toward me, their human skin winking in and out, dragon scales glinting, eager to burst through and emerge.
Their eyes with their fully vertical pupils make no effort to disguise what they are, dragons at their core.
“I knew I smelled a witch.” A dragon steps ahead of the others, a slow satisfied smile curving his lips as he confronts me, his long blue-black hair hanging to his waist in snarls. “I’m never wrong.”
Tage surges to his feet with no thought to his injuries. He shoves past the other onyx. No one stops him, too busy centering all their blistering concentration on me.
Tage reaches me just as the dragon with the blue-black hair makes his move. He lifts a hand high above in the air, claws shooting out from the curling tips of his fingers.
Tage shoves me out of the way, knocking me down. I hit the snow with a grunt just as Tage twists around and takes the swipe of the talons intended for me to his chest.
Purple blood sprays an obscene splatter on the snow, and I scream, terrified with the knowledge that Tage is not invulnerable among his own kind. Birds launch from the trees with loud caws, wings flapping. If anyone can destroy him, it’s these monsters.
Tage’s body contorts and twists from the pain, but he doesn’t fall. He stands, staggering for balance but not going down as the blood runs in thick ribbons over his chest. His big frame adjusts and squares off, blocking me and inviting any incoming abuse onto himself rather than expose me to it.