Chapter 25
The horses pranced around their pen snorting and kicking up clods of dirt.
I rolled onto my side, frowning as valerian-induced grogginess cleared from my mind.
It was still dark, and a fine mist had appeared around the ward, enveloping us like a shroud.
Peering closer, I could almost make out a figure through the gloom.
My hand flew to my throat, prepared for the vampire from the inn to bear down upon me.
But the figure didn’t move. And when I narrowed my eyes, I couldn’t discern the familiar blue aura. I couldn’t discern an aura at all.
Curiosity outweighed my fears. Wrapping myself in my cloak, I stood and picked my way gingerly toward the edge of the ward, coming to a halt before I reached the outer perimeter. My breath caught in my throat.
I stared into the lifeless eyes of a monster.
I wondered if I should scream, or rouse Enhart to come to my aid, but instead I remained silent as my gaze panned over the corpse-like creature.
Its skin was gray and shriveled, hanging off bones that were visible through its tattered garments.
What was left of its tangled snarl of hair was matted and missing in some places.
I’d read about plenty of monsters in Mordric’s library, but this creature was unknown to me.
I’m sure I would have remembered it had I ever come across its image between the pages of a book.
Worse still, it wasn’t alone.
Two more clustered together at the edge of the ward.
I stepped back, horrified, as the one closest to me opened its gaping mouth, revealing blackened gums and a row of broken teeth.
My blood ran cold as it groaned, the sound like the wail of a goat that had been mortally wounded.
I resisted the urge to cover my ears and dive back beneath my blankets.
“Wights,” said Enhart, startling me. “Wightgasts, to be specific.”
My hand fluttered to my chest, where my heart beat rapidly against my ribcage. I swallowed, meeting his gaze. “I always pictured wights to be more like ghosts,” I said, picturing an ethereal floating maiden with near-transparent flesh. “Not like this.”
“There are a few kinds,” he explained. “Wightgasts being the most horrifying.”
“Where did they come from?” I whispered. And why are they here?
“Most people would say that they come from the underworld. That Ferinor denied them the peace of true death because of some unconscionable misdeed they committed when they were still alive,” he replied. “Although I have my doubts.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “I’m fairly certain that wightgasts are the invention of some kind of necromancer. See how they appear almost human?”
That was generous. Although they did appear almost human, if a human had been beaten, slain, and then left out in the sun to rot. “Do necromancers have the power to do something like this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The good ones do.”
I glanced sideways at him. I had rarely come across the topic of necromancy in my reading, and we had never broached it in our sessions.
From what I understood, it wasn’t exactly a respectable discipline.
There were several Valenian decrees in place, in fact, that prohibited witches from disturbing the dead in any way.
To do so would be considered an affront to the gods, and punishable by both mortal and divine law.
My eyes flicked back to the creatures, who swayed in the wind as if dangling from the gallows.
“Do you think someone sent them after us?” I asked.
“It’s possible. Most likely, though, they were drawn to you,” he said.
“Drawn to me?” I echoed. “Why?”
“Wightgasts are attracted to magic,” he explained. “I mean, they’ll attack anything, don’t get me wrong, but they tend to target witches and vampires more than they do humans.”
My blood ran cold. “They’re violent?”
“They might look docile now, but I imagine your ward is the only thing keeping them from clawing out our entrails,” he replied, unfazed.
“Why haven’t they come after me before?” I asked. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been outside of Valnar.”
“You may have been born with the ability to wield magic, but witchcraft is a skill like any other. It must be learned, practiced, and reinforced over time. The greatest swordsman, for example, may have natural instincts that sharpen his reaction times. That doesn’t mean he can pick up a sword and best an opponent who’s practiced every day for a year on his first try. ”
“So magic is like a muscle,” I said.
“Precisely. Magic has always been present in you, but it wasn’t fully manifested. With training, though, you’ve practically become a beacon to them.”
I grimaced. I didn’t like the sound of that. But the idea gave me pause. “Just to them?”
“No.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He glanced down at me. “You’re telling me that you’ve never encountered a monster before?”
“I thought it was fairly obvious from my reaction that I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“So sheltered.”
“Hardly,” I said through gritted teeth.
I’d heard stories. Demons that had escaped from under the watchful eye of Ferinor, giants who made their homes in the mountains to the west. A kraken was even rumored to guard the passage between Valen and the Garion Isles, although I had heard that from an outrageously drunk sailor in a tavern by Valnar’s docks.
Still, until now I had never seen anything stranger than the wyverns Mordric kept hidden beyond the castle grounds.
“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” said Enhart, “but magical creatures will, inevitably, be more drawn to you because of your power. It’s an unfortunate truth and all the more reason to keep practicing.”
“If they’re wights, does that mean their souls are trapped here?” I asked. As terrifying as they were, it was difficult to think of a more terrible fate.
“Does it look like they have souls to you?”
My eyes flicked back to the masticated creatures that stood before me. No, it didn’t.
I swallowed. “Are we safe here?”
He shrugged. “It’s your ward.” I scowled at him and he threw up his hands. “I trust your ward, okay? Although that reminds me.” He crossed to where his saddlebag hung on my enchanted fence, rustling around inside. I kept my eyes trained on the wightgasts, too horrified to look away.
“Here,” he said. I glanced down despite myself, frowning as I realized what he was holding.
“You’re giving me a blade?” I asked, bewildered. “I don’t know how to use that thing.”
He sighed. “It’s a last resort. Like if a wightgast sneaks up on you faster than you can raise a shield, or if you’re somehow incapacitated.”
“You just said that you trusted my ward.”
“I do. This is just in case. I doubt you’ll ever have to use it.”
I tugged on the hilt, pulling the dagger from its sheath. I balked as I laid eyes on the design etched into the steel. A serpent. One I had seen before. “This is—”
“Nothing special, I know,” he said.
I glanced up at him. Mordric had told me the night we met that this dagger was meant to be a gift. But he never mentioned for whom it was intended. “This is not nothing. And it’s far too nice for someone like me.”
“Nonsense,” he said, waving away my protests. “It was just something I had lying around. Look, the sheath was designed to be secured to your belt.” He wiggled the clasp between his fingers. “But we could get you a holster that wraps around your leg, if you prefer.”
“Maybe,” I mumbled, sliding it back into place. When I strapped it to my side, it rested flush against the curve of my hip. I was unsure of what to say. Or why he was lying to me.
We stood there for a few quiet moments, watching side-by-side as the creatures milled around the ward.
I was too uneasy to go back to sleep, and too wary to take another sip of valerian root.
So instead, I sat with my back to the fire, Enhart not far away.
His eyes never closed. The wightgasts continued to shuffle to and fro, their bare feet scraping across the clearing floor.
They never attempted to break through the ward, but they never strayed from our camp, either.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen if there was nothing standing between us.
Shortly before the moon gave way to muddled sunlight, they retreated into the trees, disappearing like ash that had been gathered from a campfire and tossed into the wind.