by Amber Argyle
By the time evening came on, black clouds boiled over the blue sky, leaving them in perpetual twilight. Thunder cracked and lightning sizzled. The rain sheeted in a downpour that left Caelia soaked in seconds. At least I’m cleaner, she thought miserably.
Gendrin stopped, his mouth fixed in a grim line. He shouted to be heard over the wind, “Wait here.”
Before she could protest, he shimmied up a tree. She watched him, the tree cavorting about like a drunk man tethered to the ground. He tied up his pod and fixed his pack to a branch. When he finally dropped back down, his expression was grim.
She backed away from him. “Are you mad? We can’t go into a tree in a storm. It will be blown down or struck with lightning.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
She shook her head, rain streaking down her face. “There has to be somewhere we can shelter. An overhang or cave.”
“The beasts can’t sense us in the trees.”
“Surely they’re as eager to escape the storm as everything else.”
He looked about nervously and held out his hand. “Trust me, Caelia.”
He’d already saved her life once. He’d learned her deepest, darkest secret and hadn’t treated her any differently because of it. She did trust him. How could she not?
She placed her hand in his. He boosted her onto the first branch. The tree shifted beneath her. His pod was halfway up, and each bough swayed more than the last. She held on tight, her whole body locking up with fear. Gendrin came up behind her.
“Can’t we pick a lower branch?” she shouted.
“Not if we’re to be beyond the beasts’ reach.”
He went first, stretching back to pull her up beside him. She strained for a branch that shifted out of her grasp, leaving her leaning too far toward. Unbalanced, she cried out. His hand snaked around her hips, steadying her against him.
“You all right?” he asked.
No. But she would never admit it. She looked up to find him close and looking down at her. He felt warm and solid and real. She didn’t pull away. He didn’t let go. The storm suddenly seemed far away.
A blush heated her cheeks. What was she doing? She’d just escaped a bad relationship. She had no desire for another. She shifted slightly back. He dropped his hand.
Clearing his throat, he turned and climbed. She was more aware of his hand gripping hers, of his body’s proximity. When they finally reached the pod, he pointed to her borrowed belt. “Take it off. Get inside the pod.”
The pod must be what he called the hammock. She did as he asked. He strapped the belt to the tree along with his baldric, sword, and shield. He held open the pod for her. She sat and then shifted her legs inside. She scooted over as he came in after. The pod mashed them together, the edges of their arms and legs touching, and both tried to pretend they weren’t.
He shut the pod, which was surprisingly waterproof, though they were both soaked, so it didn’t matter much. He spread a blanket over them. She pulled it up to her chin. It was coarse and smelled of damp wool. She shivered hard, trying, and failing to fight off the chill.
“This is ridiculous,” he chattered. “We need to get warm.”
She stiffened before giving in with a sigh. “Try anything, and I’ll find a pitchfork.”
He chuckled, deep and low. He maneuvered his arm under her. She shifted until she wrapped around him. Gradually, their body heat mingled. The shivering stopped. The storm settled a little. Finally, finally, she relaxed.
She nuzzled into him, liking the way he felt against her, the size of him. She splayed her fingers across his chest. He was brave and kind. He understood her. He hadn’t judged her. He—his heart was beating too fast, and he held himself far too stiffly.
She froze, realizing that she hadn’t been curled around him for warmth. She’d been cuddling him. With that realization, a different kind of heat built in her—heat fueled by embarrassment and trepidation and more than a little longing.
“Would you like to rescind your threat of a pitchfork?” he asked, voice thick.
She wanted to say yes. Wanted it very badly, fool that she was. She’d only known the man for two days. Anyone could be charming for two days. Mal had managed it for months. “I can’t—I’m not—I didn’t mean . . .” She trailed off before she could make a bigger idiot out of herself.
“I imagine it’s hard to trust anyone, after what you’ve been through.”
She relaxed. “I just met you.”
“It’s all right, Caelia. Go to sleep.”
They lay for a long time, neither sleeping.
“Gendrin?” she finally asked.
“Yes?”
“How do you kill a beast?”
He stiffened. “It takes a team to bring them down.”
But they could be killed. “Could I do it?” She’d promised Atara she would, after all.
He was quiet a long time. “To my knowledge, no woman has ever managed it.”
Her mind spun for what felt like hours, until she gave up on ever going to sleep on her own. “If you put me to sleep like you did last night, would I wake up if there was danger?” Danger like you.
“Still don’t trust me?”
“It’s not that.” Although it was.
He chuckled, clearly unoffended. “Only if I kept playing, which I promise not to do.” She could feel him looking down at her. “Would you like me to put you to sleep?”
She nodded.
“At times like this, I wish it worked on me.” He pulled his flute from inside his shirt. It sounded gentle and sweet. Caelia fell asleep, but this time it wasn’t her mother whose arms she imagined around her. It was Gendrin. And he was very, very real.
Chapter Eight
Beast
Caelia dreamed of hustling to her family’s outhouse. But the door stuck fast, no matter how she pulled. She woke, her bladder demanding immediate attention. She pushed up and looked down at Gendrin. Judging by the dark circles around his eyes, he hadn’t slept much.
She reached to pull the pod open, revealing thick clouds and a light drizzle. But it was morning, which meant it was safe to leave the tree. Not wanting to wake him, she tried to extricate herself without rolling on top of him.
“Where are you going?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“I have . . . needs to attend to.”
He grunted. “You can’t leave the tree until morning.”
“It is morning. And I can’t wait.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But she really, really couldn’t wait.
He pushed himself up.
“No, go back to sleep. I can manage. I’ll even start a fire.”
He flopped back down, clearly exhausted. “Take the knife.”
She managed to extricate herself. She tied on the belt, gripped each bough firmly, and eased from one slippery branch to another, going faster and faster as she neared the lowest.
It was still quite a jump to the ground. She eased onto her backside and pushed off. She landed off kilter in the mud and tipped forward, catching herself at the last second.
She almost lost control of her bladder then and there. Brushing leaves and mud from her hands, she hustled far out of sight—she didn’t think Gendrin would peek, but she didn’t feel like taking chances.
After she’d finished, she sighed in relief and gathered wood. The wind picked up, bringing with it the smell of death—some animal rotting. She pulled the edge of her cloak over her face and breathed shallowly. The smell grew stronger. A strange smell—like the crypts she’d visited in Landra.
Foreboding slithered along the ground toward her, pooling around her feet like vapor. Like something otherworldly. Like death.
Like a beast.
The sticks clattered from her hands.
“Caelia!” Gendrin cried. “The sun hasn’t risen yet. Get in a tree!” Sounds of branches shaking as he dropped.
But . . . he’d told her morning. He’d never said anything about sunrise. Had he? The fear lapping at
her ankles reared back and struck. She turned to run back to Gendrin and stopped short.
Before her feet, shadows ripped apart and thrashed like dying snakes. They rose up, forming a mist in the shape of a man, his cloak made of torn shadows.
The beast. The thing that had killed Atara.
She staggered around it, unable to look away, desperate to reach Gendrin.
The mist became solid. Eyes, yellow and malevolent, fixed on her. “A bird has slipped her cage,” it chittered.
She ran, her feet churning through the mud. She felt the creature getting close. Felt it in the icy cold that spread from her back, around her ribs, before penetrating her core. She caught sight of Gendrin between the trunks as he sprinted for her. His gaze shifted to the beast behind her.
“Get down!”
She dropped. The beast loomed over her, his sword cutting through where she’d just been. Too late to run. The beast recalled his swing and brought his blade above his head. She lifted one useless arm to block the blow.
Gendrin leaped over her, the full force of his body tucked behind his shield. He slammed into the thing, knocking it back. Both man and creature rolled away from each other.
“Get in a tree!” Gendrin cried.
She shot toward a tree with a low-enough bough, leaped into the branch, and hustled up. From behind, a thud echoed through her. She whipped back. The beast’s sword slammed into Gendrin’s shield, biting off a chunk. Gendrin backpedaled and jabbed. The beast caught the blade in a mind-numbing parry and delivered a vicious kick to Gendrin’s leg.
Gendrin limped back. The beast pressed its advantage, delivering a diagonal swipe that tore another chunk from Gendrin’s shield and had him scrambling.
It takes a team to bring them down, Gendrin had said.
But he’d attacked it alone. To save her. Knowing the beast would kill him. Like it had killed Atara. Atara who Caelia had sworn to avenge.
If she cowered again, she would lose the only other person who’d known about her past and hadn’t judged her.
Not again. Instead of running from the fear, she embraced it. Embraced that she might die.
She slipped the knife from the sheath, dropped from the tree, and stalked forward. Gendrin’s gaze flicked to her. He gave an infinitesimal shake of his head—clearly not wanting to alert the beast to her presence.
That lack of focus cost him. The beast caught Gendrin’s blade in the hook of its axe and wrenched it from his grasp. It fell to Caelia’s left. Gendrin shifted toward it, but the beast cut him off, driving him back while Gendrin could only parry with his shield.
Shifting the knife to her left hand, Caelia took the sword in her right. A snapping sound. Gendrin fell to the ground, his shield broken in two. The beast stood over him, sword raised above his head. Caelia ran, the sword cocked back.
As if sensing her, the beast turned, its blade slamming into hers and knocking it from her numb fingers. Stunned, she could only watch as the beast pulled its blade back to deliver a killing stroke.
Gendrin lunged at it from behind, wrapping his arms around the creature’s legs and wrenching. He screamed in agony even as they fell.
They rolled. The beast came out on top of Gendrin, who was still screaming. Caelia lifted the knife still in her hand and ran at the creature. Its sword appeared in its hand, summoned from the hell it had disappeared to.
She slammed the knife home between the beast’s shoulders. The creature let out a guttural cry. Shadows escaped like steam—so icy cold they burned her hand, forcing her to drop the knife to the ground. The consuming black of the creature’s robes flickered to moth-eaten gray. It looked back at her, rage seething from its being, and then turned again to Gendrin.
No time to pick the knife back up. She didn’t think. She just jumped on the creature’s back. And then she understood why Gendrin had screamed.
Shadows, oily and dark, slid into her. Shadows that filled the aching hollow inside her with ice and thousands upon thousands of screaming deaths. Her death was simply one more.
She screamed. The creature slammed his elbow into her sore side, but she did not loosen her hold. Gendrin’s scrabbling fingers found the knife she’d dropped. He lunged forward, the blade sinking into the creature’s gut. It flickered even more, becoming less solid beneath her.
They could do this. They could kill it. Feral joy broke free something wild inside her. She bent forward, biting down on the creature’s neck. Shadows and blood flooded her mouth—blood that tasted of iron and rot.
Against her will, her body went limp. She slid off the beast’s back and landed in a crumpled heap. On her side, she watched as the beast and Gendrin wrestled, Gendrin struggling to keep the beast’s sword from his throat.
It takes a team. Fighting the strange weakness that had come over her, she gathered her knees under her. The movement seemed to wake up her sluggish body. She coughed suddenly, black blood spewing from her mouth—if just touching the creature had made her sick, what could its blood do? Her muscles locked up as she coughed again. She spit, her body growing stronger.
Strong enough to crawl to the sword she had dropped. Pick it up and stagger toward the beast, each step growing stronger until she was running. She thrust. The sword pierced it as though it were made of spider webs. It threw its head back, screaming.
Caelia nearly dropped the sword. Nearly covered her ears and cowed. Instead, she wrenched the sword up, straight through its center. The beast imploded, writhing shadows sucking inward until an outline of ash remained.
Chapter Nine
Alamant
Fighting the nausea that suddenly roiled in her gut, Caelia met Gendrin’s gaze. She dropped the sword, stepping through the drifting ashes to sink to his side. Then she leaned over and vomited onto the ground.
“Ancestors,” Gendrin said. “You got its blood on you.”
He ran back to the tree and came back with a waterskin. He washed her chin and made her rinse and spit three times before he searched her. He found her burned hand. She winced as his hands pressed against the bruise in her side.
“Did he cut you? Even a scratch?”
She shook her head.
“Are you sure? Their blades are even more poisoned than their blood.”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but the blade hadn’t come anywhere near her.
He gripped her arms, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? That was a wraith. Caelia—they’ve three hundred years of training.”
Wraith. The beast is called a wraith. And I killed it. The forest take her. Whatever fleeting courage had seized her abandoned her entirely. She sat down hard on her backside.
“You said it took teamwork,” she managed weakly.
He pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad you listened.”
She laughed, giddy with relief. “Me too.”
He got to his feet, favoring his right leg. “Come on. It’s hard to tell when the sun has crested the horizon when it’s stormy. There might be more.”
“There are more?” She stood, her side aching. She felt all-over shivery and detached.
He grabbed his sword and the knife she’d abandoned. They scrambled up the same tree they’d spent the night in. Sitting sideways on his hammock, they split what remained of the dried meat and soggy travel bread. Gendrin loaded his pack.
She swallowed hard. “We’re cursed, aren’t we?”
“Cursed to be apart. To live in ignorance or death.” He pivoted to look at her. “You don’t know everything there is to know about the Alamant. The curse. You’re not going to like parts of it.”
She frowned. “Am I going to be angry with you?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe?” He shrugged. “It’s not too late to go home.”
Not yet. “Is the Alamant really all you described?”
“The beautiful parts, yes. But there is darkness too.”
“There is always darkness,” she whispered.
He held out his hand in
question. She took it, allowing him to help her down.
✽✽✽
By that afternoon, Caelia’s wound felt hot and tight. She huddled in her cloak, shivering with fever and struggling to keep up. Gendrin kept casting nervous glances at her and the sun in its inexorable arc across the cloudy sky.
At lunchtime, he made her sit beneath an overhang. “How bad is it?”
Her head ached, her back ached, her leg ached. Not to mention her bruised side and the weeping blisters on her hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He pulled up the hem of her skirt, revealing the teeth-marks, which were red and shiny and swollen. Though honestly, Caelia thought it looked better than it felt.
Gendrin passed a hand over his head in frustration. “I can do field dressings, but this . . . You need a healer.”
“Then we better make it to the Alamant.”
He swore, clearly debating.
“I’m not spending another night in a freezing tree,” Caelia chattered. Much as she’d grown to enjoy cuddling with him, she didn’t think her body could take it.
Gendrin offered her some food he’d managed to gather, but she wasn’t hungry. He wolfed it down instead and took his belt back, strapping his sword to one side. He pulled her up, slung her over his shoulders, and started off.
✽✽✽
The shadows were back. The same shadows that had swum above Caelia’s sick bed after her baby had died. Now and then, they dove down, gnawing on Caelia’s bones. On her leg. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t. The pain and the shadows tormented her.
“I want my baby,” Caelia cried softly.
“I know,” Gendrin said.
“They’re hurting me. Make them stop hurting me.”
He picked up the pace. “We’re almost there, Caelia. Hold on.”
She fell back into her nightmares, true rest eluding her. She woke again to Gendrin shouting for help. She wished he wouldn’t be so loud. Her side and neck hurt from being carried in such an awkward position.