Chapter 30
The Elk
The next morning, Sorcha and the others reported under Skyfall as usual.
To her surprise, Kyron was already there with the group, dressed in a gray and brown shirt with the Circle’s insignia embroidered on the sleeves.
He was talking and laughing with the others when she approached, greeting them all with a cheerful, “Good morning.”
Commander Nethran stood nearby, he had slight limp in his step and as he addressed the group he kept a hand on his side.
“I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now that Kyron has officially joined our Circle. I know there’s much we’d like to discuss about what happened at the festival, and as much as I’d like to give you answers, I don’t have them yet.” His tone was measured but firm.
“What I can tell you,” he continued, “is that in the coming weeks, we will be careful and vigilant about everything that happens. I want every single detail accounted for.”
The group exchanged glances, a mixture of determination and unease passing through them. Sorcha’s eyes met Kyron’s briefly, and she saw in his expression the same resolve she felt. Commander Nethran divided the group for patrols:
Rhosyn and Kyron
Drystan and Mason
Eirin and Sorcha
As they split up, Sorcha felt a hand grip her arm, she turned around standing nose to nose with Kyron.
She felt heat rush to her cheeks when she realized his lips were only a breath away.
Kyron took a step back. “I want you to promise me you won’t do anything reckless.
” Sorcha’s eyebrow curled up, as if to say “what?”
“You have a habit of finding yourself in precarious situations.”
She sighed, annoyance creeping its way onto her face. “I swear it.”
Kyron nodded then turned and strode toward Rhosyn who was watching in quiet amusement. Eirin was similar standing off in the distance looking just as amused as Rhosyn.
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” Sorcha shot out when she in striking distance of Eirin.
Eirin’s smile widened as he gave her a salute. “Sir, yes sir.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes as they began towards the woods north of Lumora. Each step away from Lumora brought a gray veil over the world, darkening as they went. The stillness was heavy, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath their boots. Finally, Sorcha spoke, breaking the quiet.
“Have you spoken to Riona at all?”
Eirin shook his head, his expression somber. “I’ve tried. I’ve talked, but she just kept walking; she didn’t even acknowledge me.”
Sorcha frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. “She’s hurting,” she whispered, though it felt like an understatement. “It’ll take some time, Eirin. Maybe more time than we think.”
Eirin sighed, glancing at the surrounding forest.
Crows cawed in the treetops above. “I know she’s grieving, we all are, but it’s hard to stand by and feel like there’s nothing we can do.”
Sorcha placed a hand on his arm, her voice wavering.
“She’s strong, Eirin. Stronger than any of us.
We just have to give her space to figure it out.
” Sorcha blinked hard, and the first tear slipped free as she tried to sound sure, but the ache behind her words betrayed her.
One after another, they fell. Eirin said nothing as he reached for Sorcha’s face, his warm hands cutting through the chill in the air as he wiped away the tears.
Eirin moved in closer, his boots scraping across the dirt beneath their feet. Sorcha buried her head in his chest as he held her. He placed his head atop hers and he held her until she broke away. “Thank you for being such a good friend, Eirin.”
“Always.”
They fell into step together, the woods alive with soft sounds, the last traces of green fading into ash.
Fall was preparing for winter. The grass, once lush, now dulled to yellow and brown.
The leaves clung weakly to the branches, the scattered bare limbs breaking the canopy in patches.
But deeper in the woods Sorcha knew too well, something else stirred, like most of the woods she’d encountered lately.
The trees grew twisted and burnt. The wind whipped with a voice caught in a scream.
Limbs bent and coiled, wrapping around figures half formed as if struggling to escape.
Once or twice, Sorcha thought she saw movement.
Eirin slowed near one of the warped trunks.
A gnarled limb reached outward, and beneath it outlined a Fae face.
Its pointed ears, barely visible, were swallowed by the roots.
The tree bled dark crimson from its bark.
He reached his fingertips to touch the outstretched limb when the tree shivered and a blood-curdling cry tore through the air, sending Eirin stumbling backwards.
That’s when Eirin and Sorcha saw a massive elk lying on its side just beyond the tree.
Its powerful legs kicked weakly at the air as it choked on its own blood.
The sound was wrenching, a mix of gargled cries and labored breathing.
As they approached cautiously, the scene became more horrifying.
The blood pooling beneath the creature was an unnatural black, seeping from its eyes and mouth like an inky curse.
Sorcha crouched beside the elk, her voice catching in her throat.
“What could have done this?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she placed a hand on the creature’s side, feeling the faint quiver of life still present.
Eirin stood frozen for a moment, as he watched the mighty creature’s suffering.
Unable to bear it any longer, he drew his blade.
“We can’t leave it like this,” he said, his voice heavy with regret.
He knelt beside the elk, his powerful hand steadying its heaving body as he positioned the blade over its heart. With a swift and deliberate thrust, he pierced the creature heart. Its movements stilled instantly.
Sorcha wiped a tear from her cheek, her hand resting gently on the elk’s fur. “The blood… it’s poisoned,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eirin wiped his blade clean on a nearby patch of moss, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Whatever’s out here, it’s getting worse.
” He glanced down at the black ink staining the ground.
Suddenly, loud snaps echoed from the elk’s lifeless body.
Sorcha stood wide eyed as the sound grew louder, reverberating through the stillness of the forest. Eirin turned just in time to see unnatural movement stirring within the elk’s remains.
Black flowers began to shoot out of the elk’s rib cage, tearing open the carcass as their petals glistened with blood and tar.
They careened around the elk’s body and jutted outward, their roots consuming everything in their path.
Sorcha’s hand flew to her mouth as the once vibrant ground around the elk began to wither.
“Run,” Eirin said, his voice low and urgent.
When Sorcha didn’t move, transfixed by the grotesque sight, Eirin grabbed her arm with force, pulling her away. “Now!” he shouted, breaking her trance.
They sprinted through the forest, their breaths ragged and hearts pounding as they fled the spreading darkness.
Sorcha glanced over her shoulder and let out a gasp of horror.
The black flowers were expanding rapidly, curling and overtaking everything in their path.
The once thriving forest was now a graveyard of decay, its vibrant greens replaced by deathly grays and blacks.
Eirin pulled her faster, his grip firm as they leapt over roots and ducked under low-hanging branches. After putting a safe distance between them and the bloom, they stopped, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath. Eirin turned to look back, his face pale with disbelief.
The black bloom had devoured everything within its radius, leaving a wasteland of destruction. Trees stood stripped of leaves, their bark cracking and rotting. The ground was slick with a dark, viscous substance, and the air around the bloom felt heavy and suffocating.
“What is that?” Sorcha stammered, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know,” Eirin said grimly, his hand still gripping her arm as if afraid to let go. “It’s just like the last one we saw, but that was on the other side of the city… it’s spreading.”
Sorcha’s mind raced as she stared at the spreading darkness. She turned to Eirin, her resolve hardening. “We need to get back. Nethran has to see this. He has to know.”
Eirin nodded, his jaw clenched. “Agreed. Let’s go before it catches up with us.”
Without another word, they turned and bolted through the forest, the haunting sight of the black bloom etched into their memories, a grim reminder of the growing sickness threatening their world.