Chapter 18
Alora
The only thing fueling me this morning as we endure another dreary, drizzly sunrise is getting to the village that marks our halfway point.
Though it doesn’t have an official name, we’ve nicknamed it Treach, short for treacherous. The mind—numbing ride to get to it is nothing short of its namesake due to the rugged terrain and the questionable company that resides among the woods, phantom or foe.
I rub my sore eyes with my balled fists and move to stretch the kinks from my stiff neck and crammed shoulders.
I took the lead today, leaving Leeson and Caym to ride behind me.
It was a miracle we had been able to wake Leeson after she’d been knocked out.
The scrapes from the thorny bushes marred her porcelain skin and remained today.
She wasn’t willing to waste her magic on herself after she saw the state Caym was in.
She healed him quickly, and then the four of us were somehow able to drag the fallen horse out of the sinking sand with the help from the two other horses after The Devourer searched for and retrieved Lees’ horse.
Caym had then walked off with The Devourer while Lees and I stoked a fire and settled in for the night.
When the men came back, the moods had shifted.
Caym had taken off The Devourer’s culling bands, shocking me until I was sure it was another trick of my mind.
Perhaps The Devourer had proven himself after all.
The skies feel lighter today, even now as we ride. Kina happily flies in front of us, cawing excitedly and squawking as she finds little treats on the lowlying bushes full of ripe rosehips and burlburries.
Anticipation eats away at my insides like maggots writhing within a corpse. I might as well be one myself because of the exhaustion that has settled in after yesterday.
I’d beg you to let me sink my teeth in while you clawed back.
The green—eyed devil’s words continue to shove to the front of my thoughts. Though, the one that repeats the most and causes me to face cold realizations is another reason I slept very little.
It’s a cruel joke, us being on separate sides of fate.
Separate sides of fate.
My foolish heart had started to question if the goddess and fates had taken pity on me and had willed something different for me.
But no, my fate had been written in the stars eons ago when I vowed to avenge my family.
The Devourer’s fingers fidget in my back. He hasn’t dared to touch my waist again.
The rain starts sprinkling down heavier, the drops growing in size and frequency, eventually leading to a steady downpour.
My icy fingers grab my damp, woolen hood, giving it a shake before pulling it on and drawing it down low to cover most of my forehead. In my haste this morning, I left my leather gloves somewhere at the last campsite. I’d sooner fall to my knees with the promise of a warm bath and bed.
I flex the stiff joints on my hand and quickly tuck them back into my sleeves, letting the fabric drape longer than it should. I know Dahla is disciplined enough to keep to the trail, so I let the leather leads hang around the saddle horn.
A throat clears behind me and The Devourer begins to speak low, “To answer your question from yesterday, my inked mark was not something I took willingly.”
The confession nearly knocks me off Dahla, the feeling like I’d just taken a bucket of ice water over my head. I definitely didn’t expect him to talk about anything from yesterday, but especially anything regarding himself.
“Not taken willingly?” I ask slowly.
“It’s not that I think inked skin is something to be ashamed of, many villages in the Eastern Kingdom have them as marks of their accomplishments.”
I hadn’t realized. Ink markings were not something I had seen in Noxia very often, rarely even. I can count on one hand the number of people with marks.
“So what does it mean, Devourer?”
He sighs, as if knowing this question would come up.
“That I cannot answer, little warrior. Though I wish I could.”
My traitorous heart thunders against my ribs, his use of the nickname has started to have that effect on me lately.
“It burned as if venom from a fire serpent was ripping into my flesh. I became numb to it.”
His continued confession has me tilting my head to hear the soft words easier as the rain pelts down.
“Though that pain isn’t the worst I have borne.” The last part is a whisper, barely audible.
The words strike me and I realize there is so much I don’t know about this man. And damnit, I can’t help but be enamored by him and his complexities.
“I know of those pains. The hurts that are so deep you withdraw so you don’t get lost to them. The all—consuming … agony.”
His hand slides up my side and squeezes, not painful but fierce, as if he’s letting me know he understands.
I drop my chin, my resolve threatening to break. My eyes sweep the forest floor, looking between fallen logs and ferns for any semblance of reprieve.
They catch on little white buds covered in frost, not quite bloomed bells. Another ice dagger to my heart.
Good. I can’t allow the frozen tundra of my soul to thaw and sprout, only to be consumed by fire or drought of disappointment.
As we round a thicket of trees, a meadow clearing comes into view. The path to Treach opens wide and an unusual silence is all that’s heard. An eerie buzz crackles in the air, a warning from the gods.
Dahla’s muscles seem to stiffen as the village emerges from the horizon.
I pull up her reins, stopping Dahla and quickly turn to look behind me, searching for Caym.
His horse comes around the thicket and by the expression worn on his face, he can sense my concern.
His brows are knitted together tightly and his gaze shadowed.
My focus shifts to The Devourer. His eyes close, leaving only little slits, and his mouth twists as if he’s in pain. His hands quickly jump up to rub around his neck.
Looking closer, the marks seem to glow, as if the shadowy stain is emboldened to get darker and more prominent.
The shadows rage and pulse, as if they’re constricting around his throat even more than they already were.
I study them and the markings look as if they could break free from his skin, turning the surrounding skin an angry red.
“Kassiel? What’s wrong?” I feel small again, helpless. Like I’m watching my childhood home burn with my family inside.
The world seems to tilt for a moment as I watch Caym urge his horse faster to reach us.
It’s all happening too fast, but too slow at the same time.
To my horror, I witness The Devourer’s face contort into true suffering and his tanned skin blanches of color.
He groans, quite loudly—the man who’s kept any complaint this whole trek to himself, it’s alarming.
He makes gagging sounds and his hands twitch and seize while his eyes begin to roll.
All the while, Caym’s horse can’t make it fast enough to me as the man who’s been our captive, my captive, starts to slide off sideways.
I instinctively grab for his arms, but I can’t get a true grip.
“Caym!” I scream his name, wishing he was already closer.
My grip slips and I can’t help but let him fall from Dahla.
He crashes onto the slick ground and begins to claw at his neck.
Jumping from Dahla, I look to Caym and then back at our captive. “Something is wrong.”
That unsettling buzz in the air continues, flaying my nerves open. Dread blooms in my chest and I look back at where we came from, waiting to see Leeson come around the concealed trail.
The Devourer makes another sickening gag, the air choking from his lungs.
I fall to my knees, soiling my skirts further in the thick mud and grab the writhing man’s face.
“Kassiel, open your eyes.”
He grips my hands with his, holding onto them as if they’re an answered prayer or a salve to the hurt.
Caym drops down too, squatting on his heels and looking toward the thicket.
Leeson finally emerges from the trail.
“Thank the gods,” I utter as she witnesses the scene unfolding. It only takes a moment for her to spur her mare on, her blonde hair whipping behind her while she smacks the horse’s rear to urge her on.
I glance back to the village to see that it still is as vacant as it appeared when we first rounded the corner. Surely with all the commotion from The Devourer, they would have sent a sentinel or guard out to check on us.
Leeson’s mare stops with a slide, flinging mud onto my skirts and cloak.
Caym cuts in, offering a quick explanation, “I’m not sure what he’s on about, naymeih. I came around the trees to see him falling off Alora’s horse and next thing I know the bastard is down there acting as if he’s been possessed by the oracles themselves.”
She watches The Devourer claw at his throat, blood welling from where his nails have dug in, and quickly kneels beside me.
Her face calms and she closes her eyes, the familiar feel of her magic weaving into the air.
Her hands illuminate with soft golden light and she grabs our captive’s hand, her other free one set on top of mine, still clutching his face.
Her lips pull tight and head quirks.
“Hmm.” The soft murmur is all that can be heard in between the choked gasps from the man beneath our joined hands.
Her brows furrow together, confusion seeping into them as she slowly opens her eyes.
“He’s not physically wounded. I… I’m not sure what’s happening, Alora.”
My eyes focus on his, I can’t help but watch him struggle. The foreboding feeling slices into something more.
I lift my gaze to Leeson, helplessness surging through my veins. She returns the look, pure uncertainty tainting her angelic face.
“Caym, do something.” Her voice breaks in panic. She’s been blessed to never witness suffering or anguish that she couldn’t mend. It’s something I’ve always been jealous of, but could never whisper out loud, even to the dark.
Caym leans forward, his disheveled hair falling over his eyes and he grabs The Devourer under his arms and heaves him upright. “It’s strange, his inked band. The shadows appear as nothing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Caym ever so slowly touches the inky patch with his forefinger, prodding it gently as if the shadows could latch onto a new host.
He inspects the shadows closer and whispers,“It looks as if it’s been born from the infernoes of Haldir.”
The Devourer seizes one final time and then falls limp, his dark tresses sticking to his clammy forehead.
My skin burns with the heat that escapes from his body, and Leeson gently pulls her hand from mine.
I slowly place my hands on each side of his face, not sure of what’s happened or if he’ll go into another fit, and straighten his lulling head.
“What cursed magic is this?” Caym looks from me to Leeson, wary to touch the man again, even though he’s toppled in his lap.
Caym’s expression hardens, his face worn with travel, as his skin flushes with the sudden exertion of energy.
The rain settles into the cold drizzle that’s plagued us the last few days. The chill starts to seep into my garments, freezing down into my marrow.
That’s one of the things about the Siltar Woods that makes it so treacherous, the sudden freezes that come with the phantoms. A bright burst of light falls from the sky, landing nearby and is followed by a big boom that reverberates in my chest. The strike, only a mere distance away from us, is more disquieting when we witness the fog begin to billow around where it hit.
“We need to move, now.” Caym pushes to his feet, hauling The Devourer up with him.
Leeson and I quickly bring the horses to the men, and with a shove, we’re able to get the mountain of a man on the saddle, belly down.
Whatever has happened to The Devourer has attracted the mean spirits and possibly worse. We won’t stick around to be offered up as penance.
Caym grabs his horse by his reins and pulls him close enough to jump on before slapping Dahla’s rear, sending her in a run toward the village.
I grab Leeson and allow her the moments to settle in her saddle before I slide my foot in her stirrup and swing my leg up. She gives me the reins and I crack the leather on the horse.
Chancing a look back as Leeson’s mare jumps forward, I see it even more plainly.
The dense fog eats up the path we came from, coupled with a sinister crackling of branches that freeze in the wake of the mist. I’ve never witnessed it move this fast, this ferociously. So eagerly. As if it was hunting prey.
“What the hells.” Leeson breathes the words out before kicking the beast beneath us harder, insisting the horse to move quicker.
I can’t help but watch Caym and The Devourer ride ahead of us, the foreboding feeling threatening to strangle me, reminding me of the moments after my neck was adorned with the noose.
I know what lies behind us, what we’ve fought for and come from, but the uncertainty of what resides ahead causes my thoughts to scramble.
With the frost nipping at our heels, we slide through the village entrance, the looming stone walls and a hot—forged iron gate looking like an opened mouth baring its teeth.
What we see in front of us is more grim than the phantom frost that threatens to snuff us out.
It can only be described as if a molten pot of ore exploded and crumpled the inside structures in pure devastation. It’s horrific.