Chapter 49
No matter how terrifying dire wolves are, I’m sure that every Morathkian child dreams of bonding with one at some point or another.
It is certainly true of those who live in the slums. I saw them often enough, racing across the dirt-covered ground, the smallest of the group always charged with taking the roles of the animals and snapping and growling at the ankles of the adults they passed.
Once or twice I saw children take it a step further, walking with stray dogs at their sides, offering them titbits of food they most certainly needed for themselves.
Such dogs were almost certainly given a title befitting something far more grandiose than their scrawny, mange-riddled frames. Storm. Thunder. Killer.
As for the High Hold, it was all we’d talk of as kids, in the lulls between training.
The thought that refused to sleep at the back of our minds, even when our bodies were too tired to lift a sword.
Especially then. For how much stronger would we be with a wolf at our side?
Our swords would not need to swing because their teeth and jaws possessed the power of a dozen blades.
But whatever I imagined, whatever games Kay and I played, the reality is far beyond anything my imagination could have conjured.
The way we move on silent paws, it is as though we have become part of the forest. Never have I felt so small, yet so wondrously powerful all at once.
As we pass a yellow-flowered shrub struggling to keep abloom in the cold, my mind drifts again to Kay and William.
My heart yearns for them to see me now. I might not know my brother the way I want to, but I can still imagine the excitement that would fill him at the sight of his sister bonded.
As for Kay, I’m sure she would be equal parts proud and utterly horrified.
My father, for all that he was an acclaimed warrior, never even attempted to bond with a wolf.
Back then, he insisted he didn’t want to, a fact I always considered pure insanity.
Now, however, I wonder if it had more to do with his heritage – his mother and his lack of noble birth.
The difficulties he struggled with in the court were apparent enough, and for him to be bonded would only have increased the level of jealousy among his peers.
So perhaps that’s why he chose to do without.
Or perhaps, I think loudly, he knew that some dire wolves could be testy.
I can throw you off my back, Fen says. You can think how testy I am as you roll around with a broken arm.
I’m grinning as I reply. No, you’re all right, thanks. I threw out the thought deliberately, wondering if he was still there. Separation, it seems, takes effort, but the rejoining of our minds is far more subconscious, occurring any time I let my guard down.
Once again, I concentrate on my breathing, on gently detangling our minds. I want space to think of Kay. To let myself feel the pain of missing her as I wonder how she is. If her pregnancy is showing yet. If Jonas is treating her right.
Apprehension gnaws at me, and the longing to see her gets worse. It is not just Fen I wish to tell her about, but also the Rottings, the Myrkr. Loch. I wish to know how William is. To hear that our brother is safe. Without meaning to, my mind slips towards them, and the world pinches in.
My stomach drops, and I know immediately what’s about to happen.
It takes no time to recognise my surroundings.
To clear my vision of hope and instead ascertain where I am, which is soaring above the rings of Wrohelm.
Unfettered and free. The High Hold is but a single ring away, and I fold my body inwards and plummet low as I cross that final threshold.
Though rather than steering towards the courtiers’ arc, I am guided with a twist towards the palace.
Below me, Kay and Jonas stand dressed for celebration, a world away from mud, blood, and wolves.
A physical ache burns through me as tears threaten to blur my sight, but they do not, for it is better this way. Better that she is safe, not in danger.
Kay and Jonas are not the only people gathered outside the palace, as a veritable queue weaves across the courtyard. Still, I am desperate to hear Kay’s voice, and I fly as close as I can, taking a perch on a wall a few feet away.
‘You are certain you don’t know what this ball is for?’ Kay questions, her arm looped through Jonas’s. ‘I don’t know if my dress is appropriate.’
‘Your dress is stunning,’ Jonas responds. ‘You’re stunning.’
Her smile flickers, but it doesn’t settle.
‘The king is celebrating some great victory,’ Jonas comments neutrally. ‘We must celebrate with him.’
Kay frowns, resting her hand on her abdomen. ‘But why will none tell us what the victory is?’ She drops her voice, but her anxiety is clear all the same. ‘I heard some say it is to do with the power of Morathka. But what of it?’ She drops her voice low. ‘Jonas, I worry about Rose.’
The line shuffles forward. Someone behind Kay steps too close, jostling her shoulder. I tense, instinctively bracing for her to lose her footing, but she doesn’t.
She shoots the shover an icy look I know well.
‘Not here, my love,’ Jonas murmurs sharply, but to soften his words, he reaches out and strokes her face softly.
She nuzzles into his hand, closing her eyes at the touch. It’s not a moment meant to flaunt their relationship, to fortify the rumour that this was a match made for love, not for some other salacious reason. It is a moment for the two of them alone, and I feel blessed to have seen it.
Seeing them together, at ease, makes me smile.
Content that Kay is fine, I cast my eyes around for any sign of William. There are certainly men his age lined up, and yet there is no sign of my brother. Why is that? Worry grips me. Has the pattern on his skin spread so far that he fears even leaving the house?
If that were the case, then surely Jonas and Kay would not be so at ease.
So where is he?
My body sweeps upwards, only for a cry to resonate through my skull.
Little Raven! Fen’s voice is loud in my ears. You are needed here. There is danger!
The yank is sudden and brutal, and I jerk back into my own body, which is rocking and bouncing on the wolf beneath me.
A split second is all it takes to steady myself. A single heartbeat, long enough to draw breath and taste the stench within the air.
Rottings.
The fetid odour hits the back of my throat, coppery and wrong, rot layered over something sharp and acrid, like burned meat. Fen’s muscles bunch beneath me as he skids to a halt, claws tearing into the dirt.
They’re close.
Too close.
Get off! I can defend you better if you’re not on my back! Fen’s command is urgent, and I react without hesitation. He’s right that we need him at full fighting capacity.
My boots have barely touched the ground when a Rotting lurches out between the trees. Its movements are jerky and wrong, limbs dragging as if it’s forgotten how to use them. One leg is twisted at an impossible angle, yet it keeps coming. It doesn’t even slow.
Fen lunges towards it, ripping its head from its shoulders, but more follow, their flesh putrid, the skin dappled green with mottled forest light as they peel out of the undergrowth. Many are missing chunks of flesh or have skin scorched black, but none of it matters. They don’t falter.
They don’t feel the injuries; they just keep coming. Mouths gaping, eyes unfocused and empty.
No life. No soul.
My stomach drops. There are too many of them.
I look around the treeline, scouring for the Myrkr with its black steed, but I can’t see it.
A blessing, or a curse still gathering its teeth?
‘Form a line!’ Kyor roars, drawing his sword. ‘Shoulder to shoulder!’ His face contorts as pain shoots through his wounded side, but his sword is at full height, ready to defend.
As I follow his orders, Benny is already moving, heading to where a cluster of Rottings stumble towards Caz and Loch.
Somehow, Caz has ended up on the outside of the group, only feet away from one of the staggering monsters, yet before she can even reach for her weapon, Benny shoves her back with one arm, while drawing his sword with the other.
The movement is one sweep, up and through the putrid flesh, which peels away from its bones like rancid meat.
Yet the Rotting doesn’t utter a sound. Instead, it continues forward, swinging its festering fists wildly. Benny readies to strike again, but the Rotting lurches, swiping across Benny’s ribs hard enough that I hear the impact over the noise.
‘I’m okay!’ Benny yells. ‘I’m not scratched. Just stay behind me!’ His words are a snarl at Caz and Loch as he refuses to give the monster an inch of ground despite the impact.
Loch is rocking again, eyes wide, muttering to himself.
‘We need to go this way!’ Stide shouts as she jumps from her horse. ‘Lead them this way!’
‘Kyor said to form a line,’ Caz replies, gripping her own sword.
‘There is a v?tte hule nearby!’ Stide yells back. ‘If we lead them there, they will fall! It is best!’
We either stand and fight the Rottings as they come or hope Stide’s plan works. I’m about to go for the latter when I’m beaten to it.
‘Do as she says!’ Thessa yells out from where she remains upon a horse, battling to keep it from bolting.
‘I’m coming!’ Benny calls out as he races in the direction Stide has pointed. ‘The rest of you stay here. Deal with the others.’
‘You follow me. Not one step off,’ Stide insists, and she disappears between the trees, leading Benny and several of the Rottings out of sight.
‘Protect Loch!’ Benny calls back to me, although Caz has already taken up that role, though she struggles to keep the blade from trembling in her grasp.
She’s Morathkian – Eastern Isles born and raised with a blade in hand – and though she has long since relinquished weapons for quills, books, and her library, it doesn’t stop her now.
I stand shoulder to shoulder with her, protecting her and the frailest of our group.
‘Get the fuck off me!’ Ruben screams to my left, fire darting from his hands as a Rotting tackles him from his saddle. The smell of charred flesh mars the air as Ruben slams into the ground. He’s not even able to right himself before another shape looms over him.
‘Fuck off!’ he screams again, the fear rising in his voice.
‘Just keep going!’ I yell at Caz, twisting around and breaking our meagre line as I race to Ruben. But Kyor beats me to it.
Unlike me, he’s remained mounted, and the sight of him and Elska is more than a little formidable.
In one leap, the pair sweep through the air, Kyor’s sword swinging with expert precision as it whistles through the first Rotting in a clean, vicious arc, severing its head before rising up and doing the same to the second, and sending a bolt of lightning through its body, just for good measure.
‘Thanks,’ Ruben heaves as Kyor pulls him upright without a word before he peels away again, ready to face the next threat.
Fear trembles through me, but I refuse to let it take hold. It’s just another fight. And they’re just another type of monster. No different from the murderous Rettlings and the huge jotnar and more besides.
I beat them when I wasn’t bonded. Now … now I’m damned if I’m going to let these half-dead beasts scratch or hurt a single one of my friends.
The cacophonous caw of crows rises, but I block it out, focussing on the foes before me.
With my sword firm in my grasp, I spin around, trying to work out who to help first. Ruben is back on his feet, and Benny and Stide have returned.
‘We did everything we could,’ Benny says breathlessly. ‘The broken earth’ll slow them but …’
But they’re still coming. They’re the words he doesn’t say. There are still more coming.
And the cawing rises still. Fen is moving non-stop, tearing down one Rotting and then the next, throwing himself into the middle of the fray in a manner that makes my heart clench.
I push down the fear clawing up through me. The Myrkr is surely coming … Maybe we can flee before it reaches us.
Caz is struggling to keep Loch clear from the creatures, and Ruben is all but out of flames.
I need to pick a front to fight with, I think, only for another thought to claim my mind.
The Rottings are in the forest … and the forest is my domain.
I reach for my green magic, for that buzz around my ribs.
The effect is instant as the Rottings closest to us stumble and trip over vines that tangle their feet and legs.
‘I’ll hold them. You get them!’ I yell unnecessarily as swords cleave through the creatures one after another. But for all the ones that fall, more are still coming.
Intent on harnessing the same power I used only minutes before, I pull at my magic, ready to hold the next wave of Rottings in place, but nothing answers.
No, no, no! I scream the words in my head.
Maybe it’s just taking a moment. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from freeing Fen that means my magic requires longer to summon.
I try again, wishing with every fibre in my body that this is the reason for the emptiness within me. And yet I know in truth that it’s not.
My magic is gone. And there’s only one reason why that could be: the Myrkr has found us once again.