Chapter 4
Chapter Four
We round a bend and there he is. Eggory. His feathers are fluffed to cult-leader proportions and he’s perched in the middle of a glowing corn kernel circle, scratching something into a tree.
Cedrik squints. “Are those… our initials?”
“Oh my gods,” I whisper. “You’re joking, right?”
A strangled sound comes from Cedrik’s throat. “I wish I was.”
I step forward to see a heart drawn around two squiggles and a plus sign.
For a moment, I watch the rooster work. There’s a certain rhythm to it. Eggory tuts, carving a slew of demonic runes into the dirt. He pecks, he scratches, he inspects the lines. The blue light glowing from the symbols throbs in time with his movements, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Cedrik stands next to me, close enough that his arm brushes mine whenever he fidgets.
Which is a lot. He keeps glancing at the heart carved into the tree, then quickly looking away.
It’s as if the existence of our initials being in a romantic setting is ridiculous or unsettling for him, or more terrifying than the possibility of actual dark magic taking place before our very eyes.
I lean a little closer and whisper, “You think he’s matchmaking us? Maybe we’re soulmates now.”
He goes rigid, then scowls so hard the scar on his nose crinkles. “Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are fixed on Eggory, who is now standing, wings outstretched, in the center of the corn circle. The light pulses once, twice, then goes steady, blue and blinding.
“This is spiritual… I think.” Tilting my head, I try to get a better look. “I can’t tell if he’s doing a love spell, dark magic, or a sacred prediction.” Glancing at Cedrik I furrow my brow. “But how are we involved?”
He scoffs. “He’s pecking a demon ward into a tree and eating dirt. I doubt it’s any of the sort.”
“He’s doing it nobly.”
Cedrik starts forward. “All right. That’s enough prophetic poultry nonsense.”
“Wait, don’t interrupt—”
But Cedrik snatches Eggory up mid-ritual. The glowing symbols flicker out and Eggory screeches like a vengeful god.
Without warning, Cedrik yanks his dagger from the sheath on his thigh and flips it, catching the blade so the hilt extends toward me. “Hold him steady.”
“Are you going to stab Eggory?”
He gives me a look like I’m the dumbest person alive. “No, I’m going to tie him up so he can’t escape again.”
Eggory squirms in my grip and Cedrik snorts as he unties the sash around his waist. The front of his tunic comes open and hangs on either side of his torso.
His abs bunch and ripple as he cuts the fabric into strips and ties them around the rooster until he’s a little ball of silver satin, with tail feathers and a head.
Which is fair, considering that Eggory is a carnivore. I can’t tell you how many of his fellow chickens he’s eaten, and usually when he escapes we find him in the kitchens or the dining hall chowing down on some sort of meat intended for our meals.
I’m sure, if given the chance to escape again, Eggory wouldn’t mind drawing some blood. It’s probably for the best that he can’t run around like Hennifer until we know he’s not going to attack us.
Cedrik ties the fabric in the final knot and Eggory goes silent. Utterly, chillingly silent. There’s a pressure in my chest like I’m about to sneeze, cry, or set something on fire. Hennifer gives a low, mournful bok and I clutch my healer’s pendant at my throat.
The victory drains from Cedrik’s body all at once. “What?” he says, but it comes out softer.
I stare at the limp, bundled rooster. “You interrupted a summoning. Or an exorcism. Or a—” My voice wobbles. “—wedding. But whatever it was, I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.”
Eggory’s eyes glitter with something that isn’t quite defeat.
Cedrik sheaths his dagger, then leans back against a tree and blows out a long, exhausted breath. “What, you think the universe is going to punish us? That some cosmic force cares enough to get payback over a chicken?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “That’s how magic works, Cedrik. If he was in the midst of predicting the future, and if you just broke the ritual, we’re about to have a lot of bad luck.”
“Well, you’ve seen him do it before, right?” He arches a brow.
“No, I’m allowed to take care of the chicken coop, but I don’t take part in the important rituals. I think my boss is worried I’ll mess something up in front of the Lord.” I glance away, still running my fingers over the crystal brooch on my cloak.
He shakes his head. “How can you expect to learn anything that way?” He glares, then softens. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll do an offering when we get home. Bread crumbs, lavender, the good corn. Hell, I’ll write an apology letter.”
It’s a joke, but I can tell he means it. Cedrik doesn’t like the feeling in the air any more than I do.
A cold wind threads through the branches. The air suddenly feels about two degrees colder. I rub my arms through the fabric of my cloak, then stand so close to Cedrik that our shoulders touch. He doesn’t move away.
After a long silence, he mutters, “You’re really scared.”
“No,” I lie.
He glances down at me. “Hey. We got what we came for. Tomorrow, you’re going to be the hero who rescued Grim’s Keep’s sacred omen.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But in the back of my mind, all I can see is that glowing circle and the heart with our initials, and the way Eggory looked at us with those unsettling, all-knowing rooster eyes.
“Yeah,” I say, “unless we’re all cursed now.”
He nudges me with his elbow. “But you won’t lose your apprenticeship.”
I blink at him, and he looks away fast, focusing on checking Eggory’s bindings.
It starts with a single snowflake.
The next, a flake spins lazily from the sky and lands right between Eggory’s tiny horns. He shakes his head, indignant, and another lands, this time square on his beak.
I squint up, and sure enough, there are more. Dozens, maybe hundreds. In seconds, the air goes from bare to whirling, each flake so big it could double as a weapon. The triplet moons are swallowed up by a white curtain, coming down thick and fast.
I blink, my brain not fully processing. “Is it… snowing?”
Cedrik stops mid-stride. The line of his jaw shifts from “annoyed bodyguard” to “oh, shit.” He scans the sky, the woods, then me. “It’s not supposed to snow. Not until next month.”
“See!” I jab a finger in his direction, the pendant at my neck swinging with the motion. “I told you. Bad luck.”
Before I can savor my victory, a flake the size of a baby’s fist slaps me on the cheek and sticks. It’s not cold so much as wet and determined. Instantly, the air chills ten degrees, and my entire face goes numb.
Eggory flaps furiously against the wrappings, then seems to sense the futility and just glares at me like this is all my fault.
Cedrik’s already in motion, boots biting into the fresh snow as he herds me and Hennifer ahead of him. “We need to get to cover. Fast.”
I try to keep up, but the snow is already ankle-deep, and every step is a struggle. Behind us, the clearing vanishes beneath a white sheet.
“Why are you so freaked out?” I pant, desperate to keep the cold from settling into my lungs. “You said you’re immune to the cold.”
Cedrik doesn’t slow. “I am. But that doesn’t mean you are.”
I swallow. Hard.
A fresh gust slaps me in the face, and the world tilts. I nearly go down, but Cedrik catches my elbow, steadying me as if it’s nothing. His hand is hot through the sleeve of my dress. Or maybe that’s the adrenaline.
Branches whip past as we sprint. Cedrik is just a few steps ahead, clutching Eggory for dear life. I stumble once, twice, then get grips my hand and yanks me forward.
“Keep up,” Cedrik growls. “We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
He doesn’t say. But then I see it. Up ahead, there’s a split in the rock, barely more than a shadow between two massive trees, just wide enough for us to squeeze through.
A cave.