Chapter 16
Smoke and shadows meld together to form a vaguely human-shaped torso with rippling wings attached – because of course it has wings; why does everything in this place have wings?
Unlike the statue, though, its lower half has no legs, the shadows descending into nothing but mist. It’s got no face to speak of, just a round shape with a gaping hole where a mouth might be.
Screams break out across the clearing. People scramble for their clothes, bumping into one another – but the moment they do, the lust powder takes effect once more, and they fall to the ground in a clash of teeth and grasping hands, all thoughts of impending doom forgotten.
Astin and I avoid touching as we leap to our feet, lest we succumb to the same problem.
Desire is a dull thud beneath my panic, a lingering itch I haven’t fully scratched that could easily reignite if the skin is exposed.
Acknowledging it’s there is enough to make it worse.
Time stills. My breaths come harder, faster.
Saliva floods my mouth. I want to touch, and taste, and –
The wraith shrieks. High-pitched, shrill, grating.
My focus snaps to that thing, at the black smoke continuing to pour from the narrow path leading into the maze.
The Souleater controlling it is nowhere to be seen, but they must be nearby, releasing all their dark magic until it becomes this.
Shadows ripple to form claws where its hands might be.
I’ve seen that before too. My pulse kicks up another notch. Maybe the Souleater who attacked Shiverholde decided to replenish their magic in Rerta this year. Or maybe they got wind of Damian’s plans.
He should have known it couldn’t be kept secret.
There’s no sign of the Souleater yet, but it’s only a matter of time. The wraith will pin us down first. That’s how it begins. Astin steps in front of me, but it’s futile. Even if he had a weapon, the wraith’s got no blood to spill or bone to cut.
‘What do we do?’ I whisper.
‘Can you kiss it?’
‘Kiss it? Kiss it? It doesn’t have any lips.’ There’s a slight edge of hysteria to my voice.
The wraith grabs hold of the man with the broken nose, who bats at its shadowy arms to no avail, and slices its claws across his chest. I gasp as he drops to the ground. More screams ring out across the crowd as the lust powder’s influence finally fades, replaced by sheer terror.
A bell clangs frantically in the distance. Shouts sound outside the maze. Wardens, probably, but their daggers will be no more useful than my lips or Astin’s fists.
‘We need to move.’ Astin grabs me. My skin burns where our hands connect, but I let him drag me onwards, towards freedom –
And then I’m drowning in the stink of decay.
The wraith soars overhead. I lose my footing, and Astin slips from my grasp.
Another scream splits through the air, a second competitor falling to the ground, while darkness fills the clearing as more wraiths rise from the mist. More than I ever saw that night in Shiverholde.
I didn’t know it was possible to make this many at once.
I freeze, watching in horror as they swell in size, realising how much power this Souleater has.
How unstoppable they might be.
‘Come on.’ Astin finds my hand again, but one of the wraiths is heading straight for us. He twists, slamming me into the hedge, acting as my shield. ‘You have to run. I’ll hold them off.’
‘What? No –’
‘Run, Daisy. Get the item out of here.’ He whirls round and races into the centre, drawing the wraith’s attention away from me, but I can’t leave him here, I can’t.
A woman’s body falls nearby. I think she might have been at the party too.
Tears run down my face. Astin is ducking and dodging a wraith’s claws, but there’s another one, all too close, and it’s turning round, about to catch sight of me, and the item in my pocket is an ever-present weight.
Maybe it’s what they’re here for. I can’t let them have it, not when I’m ahead in the contest at last, when I’m one step closer to getting my hands on the cure.
I’m running before I realise what I’m doing. Who I’m abandoning.
My arms pump. I’m made of nothing but sweat and heat, but the maze is close now, looming larger. I’m three paces away, two, one . . .
I make it. That dark mist lingers, and while it took no time to work my way through with Astin, this place is now an endless spiral; I meet continuous dead ends and see strange shapes in every one.
There are no harp-playing bards or kissing couples to be found, just the phantoms they’ve left behind, wisps of smoke flickering in the corner of my eye.
The air crisps with creeping frost and dread.
In the distance, the screaming stops.
I pause. Maybe I’m in too deep, the walls around me too tall to hear what’s happening. Or maybe it’s over. Maybe those wraiths have ripped every single person to shreds while I hid in here. My legs turn to butter. Astin. Stuck in another dead end, I pummel the bush in frustration.
Think, Daisy. I shouldn’t have listened to him when he told me to run. He’s more important than any magical item in my pocket. I should have stayed and – and what? What am I capable of doing? The ten-foot walls towering above me are a reminder of how small and insignificant I am.
Leaves rustle nearby and I clutch the hedge harder. Something is moving down the path next to where I stand. The temperature plummets. More dark mist rises from the ground, tendrils of black swirling around my feet.
A shadowy claw wraps itself around the bend.
Another. Three. Four. A long, low croak emits, guttural, like a toad.
I can’t move. I wait, and I watch, as the wraith slowly glides round the corner, knowing it has all the time in the world, because I’ve nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, trapped between the three corners of the dead end, the cushion of branches as useless a hiding place as that cloak stand the day Benedict came to the inn.
My heart hammers as the wraith stops. Its head tilts. If it had eyes, I’d assume it was assessing me.
We move at the same time. The wraith flies forward as I, for lack of better ideas, dive head first into a slightly bedraggled section of hedge, which is gappy enough to accommodate me.
Sort of. Branches tear at my clothes, my skin, but I don’t care, can’t care, as I force my way through.
My blouse snags on a twig, and I’m wrenched backwards with a yelp, but when I reach to free myself, I realise it’s not a twig I’m caught on, but the wraith.
Its claws are curled around my middle, pulling me and pulling me, and I’m completely trapped now, wedged in a fucking hedge with nowhere to go.
I kick and punch and try to pull myself free, but it’s like the whole maze is working against me, as though someone has demanded the branches tighten into snares around my body, commanded the leaves to scratch my face until I’m crying blood.
If Astin was here he’d roll his eyes and say, Well, that’s what you get for climbing into a bush.
But Astin’s not here. A whimper escapes my mouth as I make another attempt at forcing my way through to the other side.
The only benefit to being stuck is that the wraith isn’t able to yank me out either.
It rumbles with discontent as it tugs on my skirt.
In the dim light, the pink material glows garishly from within its grasp, a beacon of hope in a bleak sea.
From the centre of the maze, another wraith shrieks. Louder, sharper than before. A cry of pain.
Astin.
He’s fighting back. Hurting them somehow. It has to be him. It has to be. The idea it’s not is too painful to contemplate.
I have to help him finish whatever he’s started.
The wraith’s grasp on my clothing slips.
Gritting my teeth, I use the opportunity to try to pull myself free one final time, using all my strength to wrestle my skirt from its grasp.
Wool spools, leaving the wraith with nothing but a heap of threads in its claws, and I force the branches apart, ignoring the way they scratch my palms like they have claws of their own, and dive through to the other side before it can grab me again.
I scramble to my feet and break into a run, whizzing down path after path, the echo of the wraith’s cries spurring me forward like a tailwind.
I keep expecting shadows to burst from the hedge, to reshape in front of me, but every turn leads to more empty pathways, as though the maze is finally sympathetic to my plight and is opening the way through.
I’m panting by the time I arrive back in the clearing.
Imminent death must have finally cleared everyone’s powder-induced haze, because those who remain standing are now cowering in a huddle, watching as five wraiths swarm towards something on the far side, shadows stretching and elongating, blocking my view of whatever it is they’re approaching.
I scan the faces of the crowd, along with the bodies on the grass, to confirm Astin’s not among them. Which means . . .
One of the wraiths shrieks again, and I was wrong before.
The sound’s not pain. It’s frustration. Astin appears a moment later, finding a way to slip through the mass of shadows and feinting to the left, then right, narrowly missing claw after claw like it’s a practised move at this point, but he’s only human, he can’t keep this up forever, he needs to stop antagonising them and run.
‘Astin!’ I call out. ‘Come this way!’
He looks around, panicked, and I immediately realise my mistake because a wraith uses the distraction to send him flying through the air. He lands some distance away, skidding through mud before coming to a stop by one of the hedges.
‘Astin!’
The wraiths charge forward, arms extended, ready to rip and tear and kill while I stand here powerless. Astin rolls out of the way and scrabbles to his feet, swerving another swipe of claws, but there’s five of them and one of him, and he’s either tired or injured, because he’s slow. Too slow.