Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Her eyes fluttered open to a garden bathed in soft light. The unfamiliar scent of flowers and fresh greenery pulled at her senses. Tall, twisted trees arched overhead, and streaks of light speckled the ground below. Clusters of blue and violet flowers lined the cobblestone path.
Ahead, there was a colossal plant, its face a burst of deep purple petals, but it lacked a stem. Its main body was thick with black leaves and swaying thorn-studded vines.
“A Grimthorn Bramble,” Gisela said as she rose to her feet.
“Like from the children’s book?” Thorne asked. He stood and took a careful step forward.
“Yes.” Her eyes traced the plant’s hypnotic movements. “Ah, so this is what your parents named you after.”
Thorne gave her a flat, bored expression but didn’t respond. He continued toward the plant instead.
Gisela walked past the Grimthorn Bramble, keeping a safe distance from its menacing vines.
Past it, a mortar and pestle sat on a pedestal beside a dagger with a crystallized hilt. A hollow feeling settled in her gut as she took in the scene before her.
The fine hairs along her neck rose. Every instinct screamed that this place wasn’t a real garden.
It was more like a curated stage, waiting for a performance.
Beyond the pedestal and down the winding path stood a tree so massive it was impossible to see its entirety from a single vantage point.
She walked toward it, tilting her head back to see thousands of aether leaves garnished with plump dreamberries.
Reaching out, her fingers grazed the rough, warm bark.
“This is a giant Guardian Tree, Thorne!” she called out.
Thorne was still mesmerized by the Grimthorn Bramble, inching his way closer to it. “Those vines are long, keep your distance.”
But it was too late. Her breath hitched in her throat as one of the vines lashed out like a striking serpent. Its thorns raked across his arm. He collapsed to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain. “Thorne!” Gisela screamed, rushing over to him.
She cursed under her breath as she knelt beside him.
She lifted his arm and gritted her teeth.
The wound was already darkening. The poison was spreading as fast as the tale had described.
As she examined his arm, she could smell the venom.
It smelled like lavender but with a subtle metallic tang.
Thorne’s breathing became labored, his eyes rolling back as foam pooled at the corner of his mouth.
The blood drained from her face. The pulse in Thorne’s neck was a fading rhythm beneath her fingers. He wouldn’t die here. He couldn’t.
She glanced at the Guardian Tree.
“Hylja,” she whispered. She dashed to the tree, mind racing as she considered the ingredients she needed.
The tree loomed over the garden like a vulture, its branches extending into the sky.
Without wasting another moment, she scaled the tree as quickly as she could to reach the aether leaves and dreamberries. Her arms burned with fatigue, like she had been using them for hours already, but fear pushed her muscles to obey.
A gurgling sound left Thorne’s lips.
“Hold on, Thorne.”
She reached a branch sturdy enough to sit on, but her foot slipped, leaving her dangling by one hand. Adrenaline surged, but she forced her mind back to Thorne. He had saved her.
Now it was her turn to save him.
With a low grunt, she summoned her strength and hoisted herself up, muscles burning as she reached higher.
She plucked the leaves and berries, tucking them safely into her pockets.
Each pluck carried weight: his life depended on her speed and efficiency.
When she had what she needed, she descended, landing lightly in the grass.
Working as fast as she could, she broke off a large piece of bark, but the sap refused to flow.
“Think, Gisela, think,” she muttered, glancing at Thorne’s still body. Time was slipping away; he wouldn’t live much longer. Her foot tapped anxiously against the cobblestones. The pedestal caught her eye.
The dagger.
She bolted, dropping the leaves and berries into the mortar before grabbing the dagger.
Sprinting back to the tree, she sliced off a piece of root from the base, sawing through its tough fibers.
With a forceful jab, she drove the dagger into the tree, silver sap seeping out like liquid light.
She pulled the blade free and let the sap drip into the mortar.
With her feet pounding on the cobblestones, she raced back to the pedestal and ground the ingredients together.
The faint shimmer confirmed it. Perfectly combined.
Hands trembling, she hurried to Thorne. His skin was unnervingly cold. She pressed the putty onto his arm, rubbing desperately.
He didn’t respond.
“Come on,” Gisela urged, shaking him. “Wake up, please! Why isn’t it working?”
Frantic, she sifted through her memories, like flipping through the pages of an old book, trying to recall the story of the Grimthorn Bramble and its venom.
A line from the book surfaced in her mind.
When venom strikes and shadows creep,
Seek the tree where secrets sleep.
Find the ferns with dewdrops bright,
Mix with its essence to end the blight.
“Find the ferns with dewdrops bright . . .” she whispered, her eyes scanning the garden. Clusters of ferns gleamed in the light near the Guardian Tree.
Gisela dashed over, plucking the leaves and carrying them to the mortar where the rest of the putty remained.
She squeezed them, letting the dew drip into the mixture until it thinned into a glistening liquid.
Clutching the mortar, she returned to Thorne and sank to the ground.
She positioned him with his back against her chest and forced the liquid between his lips.
Tears streamed down her face; each one a silent plea. “Please, wake up.” She pressed her face to his, her lips lightly brushing his ear. “I need you.”
The world went still. The thrum of his life wavered at the edge of darkness, fragile as glass. Every ragged breath of his became an echo of fear in her.
Seconds stretched endlessly. Then Thorne gasped, drawing air into his lungs.
Her shoulders finally dropped. All the tension left her in a single, shaky exhale.
He blinked at her.
Tears slipped down her face, warm as they struck his cheeks.
“I got pricked by a thorn . . . ironic, isn’t it?” he rasped.
Gisela offered a soft smile. Her hands lingered on his shoulders before she scooted back. Thorne took a few moments to gather himself and then stood, towering over her. He extended his hand, and she took it, feeling the warmth of his touch as she rose to her feet.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough. “It’s becoming a habit of yours now.”
“What is?” she asked.
“Saving me,” he replied, a trace of shame in his voice. He pulled her close, holding her as though letting go might undo everything.
He still smelled like the venom, reminding her how close he had been to the edge.
Thorne drew back enough for their noses to nearly brush. He rested his forehead against hers and the world shrank to the space between them.
She peered up at him, searching for his eyes, but he kept his gaze elsewhere. “Look at me.”
His eyes met hers. There was such desperation in his face that it twisted her insides.
“I trust you,” she whispered.
“I—”
A low rumble surged through the garden. They pulled apart as the ground beneath them quaked. In an instant, light blurred and the enchanted garden vanished.
They were thrust back into the chamber where their trial had begun.
The rumbling persisted, growing louder as the far wall quivered. They watched, tense and wide-eyed, as chunks of rock broke loose, crashing to the ground.
“Something’s coming,” Gisela said.
“Of course it is,” Thorne grumbled.
They turned in a slow circle with empty hands. The chamber offered nothing but stone this time.
With a deafening crash, a monstrous creature tore through the cave wall. The cavern shuddered as an eerie shadow draped over them.
The creature was enormous. Its shadowy form shifted and undulated, a nightmare made flesh.
Razor-sharp claws glinted in the flickering torchlight.
Its fangs dripped with a fluorescent green venom that hissed as it hit the stone.
Dark tendrils pulsated with sinister energy, curling like smoke, feeding off the air around them.
Gisela paused, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at her as she stared. Drawn forward, she took a step.
“Gisela, stop!” Thorne’s voice pierced the air.
The urgency in his tone snapped her back as the creature swung, sending her into the wall with bone-jarring force. The impact took the breath from her lungs and pain detonated through her ribs.
The chamber wavered. Shadows stretched and warped as she slid down the wall, struggling to stay upright.
“Gisela!” Thorne’s desperate scream cut through the chaos as he ran toward her.
He grabbed her hands to help her stand, but she stumbled and fell into him.
The creature bellowed, the sound piercing through her, rattling her bones.
Gisela glanced to the ground and saw the bow and arrow from the first trial. Thorne followed her line of sight and grabbed it. Nocking it back, he shot at the creature, and it flew right through.
Still, he tried again.
Nock, aim, shoot.
Nock, aim, shoot.
Every attempt vanished into the shifting mass.
“How do we kill it?” Thorne yelled.
It lunged forward, swiping at Gisela again. The blow took her legs out from under her.
The creature laughed. A sound like rock grinding against bone. The vibration rolled through the floor, sending dust and rocks down from the ceiling.
She snatched a chunk of jagged stone, hurling it with all her strength. The rock shattered into dust before it reached the creature’s form.
“It’s not real.”
The creature bellowed again, the roar slamming into her like a physical blow. Venom reeking of burned flesh spattered across the floor.
She forced herself to her feet, every movement a fight against searing pain. She leaned against the wall for balance and read the etched words in the stone. Fear. Trust.
And now, Death.
“We’re not meant to kill it,” Gisela said, the thought taking shape as it left her mouth. “Crag said we have to accept our fate at the end.”
“And what’s that?”
Thorne reached for Gisela, but the creature seized him, lifting him high into the air as its claws clamped tight. Thorne’s cries, raw and strangled, pierced the chamber.
She opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Her legs buckled, sending her sprawling back onto the stone floor.
The creature cocked its head, crimson eyes gleaming with malice as it stared at Thorne. With a cruel flick of its claws, it released its grip.
Thorne plummeted to the ground with a fatal thump. The sound made her stomach drop.
A sob escaped, and the air left her lungs. She searched for movement, for breath, for any sign he would rise again. There was none.
Something inside her hardened. If this was the end, then let it come.
A massive claw swept through the air again. The impact drove her back against the stone, and the world went dark.
Awareness tried to return in fragments—a sharp ache behind her eyes, the metallic taste of blood coating her tongue, the sting along her knees where skin met rock. Pain rolled through her in waves, amplified.
Consciousness was slipping away.
Even as darkness closed in, something held her—waiting.