Chapter 30 #2
I frown, recalling Rohan’s numerous ramblings, but it was all absurd nonsense … was it not?
‘Caz?’ I say again. ‘Who are the Sanning?’
This time I actually get her full attention.
She takes a step towards me. ‘According to Rohan – to his stories – they’re the fourth people of the Gods. Issen, Torailian, Morathkian … and Sanning.’
‘Impossible,’ Benny pipes up. ‘I’ve read every book in the Eastern Isles library. There was no mention of a fourth people.’
‘No … because the Gods wanted to hide what had been done. At least that’s what Rohan told me,’ Caz adds quickly. ‘What he believed. The Sannings’ magic was stripped.’
‘Stripped?’ I say, my eyes falling again on the Quiet Ones’ bright white hair. ‘By whom?’
‘By Sa—’
‘Do not say his name!’ Stide shrieks. ‘Do not speak his name in these woods!’
Her voice holds the menace of an attack, but neither makes an aggressive move. And now I know for certain why they haven’t used magic to get the blade back – they don’t have any.
Caz falls silent at Stide’s panicked order, but there’s no need for us to complete the God’s name. There is only one who starts with that letter. Sanrott, God of the Land and Sea.
He is the only God for whom there is no temple in Wrohelm, but that is because every inch of the sea and land is considered sacred to him – he can be worshipped anywhere, no temple needed.
As a contemplative silence settles over the group, a shriek somewhere in the distance wails through the night, making the horses stir and snort.
‘Rottings,’ Loch suddenly starts muttering as he rocks on the balls of his feet. His eyes are wide and scared. ‘The Rotting Ones are awake. And they are ready.’
Ready? To do what?
A second cry echoes from deeper in the forest. An animal sound. Guttural. A chill runs down my spine. There is something terrifying about that sound, and every instinct in me stands up and tells me to run.
Elska clearly feels the same. She leaps to her feet and responds to the wail with a low, rumbling growl of her own as she looks to Kyor.
His expression is grim. ‘We need to decide if we’re staying here,’ he says. ‘If we are, we need to light fires. Keep the … animals off. If not—’
‘You are not safe,’ Thessa interrupts. ‘Not in these woods. Not alone. Let us come with you. Let us guide you.’ Her eyes linger on my dagger in a way that I really don’t like.
‘Loch is right. The Rotting Ones grow in number every day, and what we have just done with the Sannthrall will have angered them greatly.’
‘Rotting Ones?’ I query. I’ve only just got my head around the idea of Myrkrs being real, and the Quiet Ones – the Sannings. There can’t possibly be a fifth race I haven’t heard of.
‘Rotting Ones are what Caroline would have become had we not been here to save her,’ Thessa says. ‘And what you are likely to become if you stay any longer in this place. Unless you have someone to guide you. Someone who knows these parts well.’
For people who, only a day ago, were ready to let my friend die, their sudden eagerness to help stinks of desperation. And cynically, I think I know why.
‘And what would you want in return for your guidance?’ I ask. ‘Assuming I can’t guess,’ I add, tapping the knife at my side.
‘Is it really such an ask?’ Thessa questions. ‘We could always just wait until you are dead and take it from you then…? I’m sure it won’t take long.’
‘This blade is mine,’ I say stubbornly. ‘I will not part with it again, and I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you. I’ve got more than enough power to end you myself, Rotting Ones notwithstanding, and I’m not alone either.’
Her bravado dims as she casts her gaze down my line of friends.
Kyor’s smirk is firmly in place, while Ruben has a small flame smouldering on his palm, just to make a point.
I’m not sure he can have much magic left after that fireball he hurled into the tree, but I appreciate the effort. It definitely works.
‘I’m not heartless,’ I continue. ‘You cannot have my weapon, but there are others. I know of another who carries a blade like mine. If you help us, I will tell you who. I will even tell you where to find it.’
The High Priestess Mila stripped the magic from my family and me, and she designed the trials in the Retterheld that killed my fellow Rettlings. She left Loch for dead. I have no hesitation in pointing the Quiet Ones in her direction.
‘And how do we know you’re not lying?’ Stide growls. ‘You lied before.’
‘No, I didn’t. Maybe I tricked you, but you should know better than to take advantage of desperate people.
The moment the tables turn, they will do the same to you.
But hopefully, that lesson has been learned.
What I’m saying now is the truth. I know the location of another blade, exactly like this one, and I will tell it to you – once you help us. ’
‘We could go to the city now,’ Thessa responds. ‘Find it ourselves.’
This time I laugh aloud. ‘Oh yes, and which city is that? Galreck? Dorain? Rowell? Wrohelm? I’m sure you’d have no issue going unseen through them all and finding the single person, out of the hundreds of thousands of people there, that has the dagger.
Assuming you even could, it would take years, if not decades.
Get us all out of here alive and I’ll tell you. ’
A silence falls as Thessa and Stide exchange glances.
Stide finally nods, teeth gritted. ‘Fine. Any more tricks and we will leave you here, on your own, to suffer the wrath of the Gods.’
‘Any trickery from you and you’ll be dead before you draw your next breath,’ Kyor says. It’s the evenness of his tone that makes the threat so deadly. He won’t hesitate to kill them both if they misstep.
‘Then it is agreed,’ Thessa murmurs, sounding annoyingly triumphant, leaving me feeling like we’ve somehow misstepped. ‘We will guide you through the forest.’
‘All the way to the Hirathean Pass,’ Ruben interrupts. He’s right. Whatever these Rotting things are, there’s a good chance they’re not limited to this area.
‘Up to the Hirathean Pass,’ I repeat, only to feel that pressure at the base of my spine. The ring doesn’t want to be forgotten, but there are only so many times I can risk our lives, and I now have hundreds of other heirlooms back in Wrohelm.
Yet something tells me this ring is different. It’s important.
But so is staying alive.
Thessa and Stide share one more look before eventually dipping their heads in agreement.
‘Fine,’ Thessa says. ‘But we need to leave. Now!’
We don’t need her urgency to spur us into packing in haste. Nor do we need Loch’s hearing to note that the shrieks are coming ever closer.