Jaruman nodded. "I wore those same markings when I crossed the Scorched Lands and came to Babon's Pass. They stop the wraiths from entering your body. If the wraith clouds come and we don't have wards, we'll become skinwalkers."
"The wraith clouds come through Babon's Pass, don't they?"
"We don't know for sure, but that's the closest place to the Scorched Lands."
"We're traveling west, and Babon's Pass is east," Fryda said, speaking her thoughts aloud. "The cloud isn't likely to come to us before we get to Eosorheim."
"That's not a bet I'm willing to take. We're going home in the morning. Say no more about it. I'd ride tonight, but my horse won't take any more travel. And I need rest more than my horse."
Jaruman lay down on the rug beside the front door. Using the moonlight coming through the window, Fryda opened the map. She had barely begun to examine it when Jaruman rolled over. Startled, she hid the map beneath her pillow.
Soon after, he started snoring. Although he normally slept lightly, Fryda couldn't remember ever hearing Jaruman snore. He must have been exhausted, which was good for her.
Cautiously, she stepped over to the fireplace and grabbed the saddle from it. The buckles clinked, and she grimaced. Jaruman didn't stir. Neither did Gillian's door open. Thinking of Gillian made Fryda feel guilty, but it couldn't be helped. A horse needed a saddle, and if she was to go to Eosorheim, she needed to leave now.
She shifted the window shutter and climbed through it. Almost giddy, she raced over to the horse. Jaruman's horse was beside it, looking disheveled. He had been right—the horse had needed the rest. Gillian's horse, however, looked bright. It didn't take long to fix the saddle.
Goading the horse out from the paddock, she walked it to the road. When she was sure they were far enough from the house so they wouldn't be heard, she mounted it and galloped down the road.
16
Alfric
Alfric wasn't accustomed to riding horses—there was little opportunity to do so in Indham. Fryda had always told him how painful it could be, but he had always laughed at her. Now he knew the true pain of saddle sores.
The three warriors had slept the previous night in a cleft beneath a hill. After waking before sunrise, Alfric had sleepily saddled his horse. From the way the saddle moved about, he must have done it wrong. He couldn't ask the warriors to stop—Cenred would likely whack him over the head for being so stupid and then continue riding anyway.
Sigebert had ridden beside Alfric as they traveled west along the road, offering a few brief words of polite conversation. Cenred stayed ahead, neither speaking nor acknowledging Alfric's presence in any way. It had been too much to hope that Cenred's advice about bravery was the beginning of a more amiable relationship.
Alfric was starting to learn why Cenred was referred to as the Wolverine of Indham. Even the hail that fell from the sky didn't make him consider stopping for shelter. Had the shards of ice been a little larger, Alfric thought they would have risked a concussion, or worse—death. They all bore painful bruises from the falling ice stones—Alfric the least, thanks to the thickness of Jaruman's cloak.
They stopped that evening at an inn for a hot meal. It was a small town, much smaller than Indham. Alfric could hardly believe people lived in what was practically the wilderness. He would surely die of boredom. No sooner had they filled their stomachs, they were riding again.
The road gave way to grassy plains. There were no farms or buildings to be seen.
Cenred halted his horse at the edge of a precipice. He dismounted and stared out across the expanse. Alfric guided his steed until the ground dropped at a steep angle. Beyond was a valley with no clouds above it. Thousands of trees reached up from the valley, untouched by rain. The moon illuminated the river with tremendous light. The river divided the area where they were standing from the valley. There was no telling how deep the river was. A stone bridge, wide enough for ten men to ride abreast, was the only visible way of crossing.
"We're almost there," Cenred said without turning. "Those trees are Grimwald Forest. It sits on Eosorheim's border."
The division between regions was showcased in the sky, gray with clouds on one side, and dark blue spotted with stars on the other. It was like a divine cartographer had separated the two lands by their skies.
"You see that stone pillar beside the bridge?" Sigebert pointed to it. It was at least twice the size of the elms within the forest. Green wards glowed along its surface. "That's an obelisk. Wherever there's a border, there are obelisks. They extend a Guardian's power from the altar. Aernheim has them, too, but they're far from Indham. If you get two from different regions that are close together, strange things happen."
"Like what?" Alfric asked, intrigued.
"If you tip a bucket of water upside down, the water doesn't fall to the ground; it goes up toward the sky. Roll a pair of dice, and you might roll two sixes. A hundred more rolls would bring those sixes again and again."
Alfric stared at the obelisk. He'd never heard of them before, but he supposed their existence made sense. How else was a Guardian's power meant to extend from the altar to a region's boundary?
They had reached Eosorheim without incident. But that was the easy part. Now, they had only to convince Hurn to help them.
Swallowing his fear, Alfric began to move down the hill but stopped when he saw a peculiar cloud. It seemed to intentionally avoid moving over Eosorheim, skirting around the border like sheep around a fence. Fire swirled within the clouds, illuminating it with a demonic light as it raced across the velvet sky.
"By Enlil's scrotum, what's taking you two so long?" Cenred had stopped in the middle of the hill. "Goodness . . ."
"There's nothing good about that thing," Sigebert said, peering up at the cloud that made his face glow red.
"Hurn doesn't want us here," Alfric said.
"That's not Hurn," said Sigebert. "That's the bloody wraiths."
Alfric's heart stopped. When he was a child, the Daughters said the wraiths would chew off his toes if he didn't sleep after lights-out. As he got older, he heard more stories of what they were actually capable of—possessing people and turning them into monsters.
The cloud pulsed, a flicker of light, except not like thunder. It was something else, as though the cloud were a living thing. It shifted, slowly descending as it moved toward them. The three horses screamed and stomped their hooves before bolting away.
"Looks like they've noticed us," Sigebert cried. "We need to cross the bridge."
Alfric was rooted to the spot. The flickering light of the cloud was impossible to turn away from. He could hear the two men yelling. He could feel strong hands tugging at him, fingers pressing into his flesh hard enough to bruise. But he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay there until the fire-colored cloud came.
Then pain shot through his arm, breaking him from the trance.
"Sorry, lad, but you weren't going to shake out of it unless I hurt you."
Alfric rubbed his stinging arm, and his hand came away sticky with blood.
"Let's go," Sigebert said as he cleaned his belt knife, sheathed it, and turned toward the precipice.
Alfric looked down the steep hill. The climb down required time and skill, neither of which he possessed. One ill-placed step or taking hold of a loose rock and he'd fall to the bottom. The drop wasn't high enough to kill him unless he landed on his head, but he'd break a few bones.
Cenred was already down the mountainside and halfway across the bridge. Sigebert called out for him to slow down lest he break a leg, but the man was plain ignoring him. He was meant to be the greatest warrior in Indham, retired only a season ago. He was either really a coward, or these wraiths were everything Alfric had heard they were and more.
Alfric steeled his courage and started descending. His boots struggled to find purchase on the scree, and he fell. The sky pin-wheeled as he tumbled. His necklace looped around a crag. He was jerked to a halt, suspended in midair for a moment before the
necklace broke. There was more tumbling, and more pain, until he lurched to a halt. A dozen cuts and bruises made their presence known, and his leg pulsed with his heartbeat. He lay on his back, groaning. The dizziness faded, revealing Sigebert's bearded face.
"Steady on, lad," Sigebert said as he slipped under Alfric and helped him stand. "I've got you."
"My necklace." Alfric turned to retrieve it, but Sigebert urged him forward.
"Forget about it. Better you lose your necklace and save your life."
Together they carefully navigated the rest of the hill until they came to the bridge. It was about two hundred paces wide, much longer than it had seemed from atop the hill. Cenred was already on the other side, sword in one hand as if it might be capable of stopping the wraiths should they cross. He yelled at them to hasten.
The entry to the forest was guarded by a grand statue of a man with an elk's head. If Alfric's heart weren't already beating at an alacritous speed, the statue with the cold eyes would have quickened it. Alfric's fall made putting any weight on his leg impossible, but Sigebert half-carried him along the bridge.
"Just a little farther," Sigebert said. Before he'd finished speaking, the mists crawled down the mountain like a twin-forked wave.
Alfric cried out in desperation and hauled himself forward. But something seized him.
Sigebert's face whitened with horror, and he stumbled backward.
A chill ran down Alfric's spine. Darkness engulfed him. A harsh, crackling sound like the locution of demons invaded his ears. Although he couldn't see, he knew that Sigebert was somewhere. Maybe lost within this darkness, or maybe he had crossed the boundary point where the mists couldn't get him.
A jolting pain penetrated Alfric's temple. Involuntarily, his hand grabbed his sword hilt and released the weapon from its sheath. Unable to do otherwise, he stepped forward, out from the mists and into new light.
Sigebert stood but a pace away, the mists unable to touch him.
The thing inside Alfric's mind wrestled for control. It winked in and out of existence—in his mind for a moment and gone the next.
Alfric knew he had scant moments to gain control or be lost forever. On instinct, he reached for the dragon pendant, but his hand came away empty. He tried to remember Fryda's face, hoping that the memory of her might tear him from whatever now controlled him. But all he saw was the terrifying image of a devil in a cloud of fire.
The demon chorus got louder. Every bark and scream made Alfric grow more desperate. Forcing every ounce of will into a single intention, he jumped across the bridge. He slammed into an invisible wall and was thrown to the ground. He scrambled upright and ran toward Sigebert again, but the same force hurled him backward.
The bridge was uncrossable.
"I'm sorry, lad." Sigebert stared at Alfric with a mournful frown before leaving the bridge and fading into the forest alongside Cenred.
The same guttural tongue Alfric had heard in the mists erupted from his throat in a deafening roar.
His body was not his own. Something had taken over it, and he could feel it smothering his mind. He fought against it, but the thing was too strong. It snuffed him out like a candle.
17
Fryda
Fryda realized too late that she hadn't brought the map. She must have left it behind in Gillian's hut. Without it, she didn't know where she was going. She had traveled along the road until it ended at a stream. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what direction the map had said to go. There had been many streams that flowed from one river or another.
"Enlil, guide me," she said before turning left. From there, it was just rolling hills filled with three-foot-high grass. Not a single building could be seen. Not wanting to give in to despair, she continued riding. The horse beneath her was a magnificent beast. It responded to the slightest tightening of her thighs. Where she was hesitant and fearful, it was confident.
But all confidence fled from the beast when the fiery cloud raced across the sky. The horse reared onto its hind legs, throwing Fryda from the saddle. Her shoulder hit the ground first, but the grass cushioned the fall. She stood and raised her hands, hushing the beast. When it finally stilled, the cloud was merely a crimson speck on the horizon.
She mounted the horse again and tried not to think about the cloud. She had ridden only a little distance before something shifted through the grass. The horse snorted and stopped moving. The grass was far too high to see what exactly the horse was reacting to. Maybe an animal of some kind.
The horse breathed in and out loudly, its lips curling back to reveal its gums.
"It's all right," Fryda whispered, stroking the horse's mane.
Something snarled beneath them, and the horse reared again. This time, Fryda clenched her thighs and gripped the reins. She remained in the saddle as the horse bolted. Unable to control the direction, she could only pray. The horse finally stopped when they'd left the tall grass.
Fryda dismounted. At least the sun had now risen, making it easier to see. But there were no landmarks for her to tell which direction they had gone in.
The horse stomped and pawed at the ground.
Not again, Fryda thought. She eyed the grass steadily, unsure whether something was about to leap from it and attack them.
A series of barks came. The horse shifted about, but it didn't leave. There would be no mounting it now. It would surely throw Fryda from the saddle if she tried.
What burst out into the clearing was no dog.
It was Alfric.
Fryda thought of running to him but stopped herself. Something was wrong with him. His hands and feet were bloodied as if he had been running on them for hours. Strangely, the dragon pendant wasn't around his neck. He had never removed it since he'd received it. He still wore Jaruman's cloak. It was dirty and fraying, giving him the look of a wild beast.
Fryda moved toward him, cautious. As she got closer, his eyes flickered over her. He licked cracked lips, his tongue staining them red.
"Don't get any closer." Jaruman entered the clearing astride his horse. He must have followed her. "That thing isn't Alfric. It's a skinwalker."
Alfric snarled, opening his mouth. His jaw continued extending, his mouth splitting along his cheeks until it reached his ears. He reached for her.
Fryda screamed and pushed him. He fell, only to land on his hands and feet, his back arched like a spider. He scuttled backward.
Sword in hand, Jaruman yelled and started to ride toward her. He was still so far away.
Alfric came for her again. Fryda couldn't move.
Gillian's horse rode in from nowhere. It stomped on Alfric, crushing him beneath its hooves. Fryda gasped, pausing only to see Alfric's soulless eyes before jumping onto the saddle.
"Ride!" Jaruman turned his horse toward the grass again.
She needed no convincing. She dug her heels into the horse's sides and left Alfric, her one true love, behind.
* * *
They didn't stop riding until the sun was at its peak. Fryda took the horses to a pond to drink while Jaruman prepared a meal. As Fryda removed the saddle from her horse, Jaruman handed her dried meat wrapped in thick bread. She sat on a rock and watched the horses drink while she chewed the food.
"Gillian wouldn't let me leave without taking something to eat," Jaruman said. "She's a good woman, that one. She said not to worry about the horse."
They both sank into silence. Rainwater trickled into the pond.
"I saw the cloud go west," Fryda said. "It was the wraiths, wasn't it?"
Jaruman tore a piece of bread with his teeth and nodded.
So Alfric was a skinwalker. She knew something bad had happened to him but hadn't gathered what it was until later when she considered what the cloud had been. The way he had moved was horrifying. And those eyes . . . whatever that thing was, it wasn't Alfric.
The last time she had seen him had been to give him the pack. But she had barely spoken to him then. In truth, anger had still fille
d her. But what good was that anger now? At the moment the wraith took Alfric, had he known that she loved him?
Suddenly, she began to cry. Jaruman pulled her upright and wrapped his arms around her. Resting her head against his chest, Fryda let the tears fall. Why did it have to be Alfric? She was going to marry him. Balling her hands into fists, she pounded against Jaruman's chest. He took her hands and kissed them.
"My daughter," he said, "I am sorry."
Sniffling, Fryda sat again. She wiped her face with her sleeves. Gillian's horse came to her, nuzzling her with its nose. Fryda leaned into the horse's ear. "Flight—that will be your name." Rain clouds parted, and sunlight warmed her face. She closed her eyes and took it in.
With the sun out now, what had happened earlier almost seemed like a dream. Where was the wraith cloud now? Fryda opened her eyes. "Does the cloud disappear in the morning?"
Jaruman nodded. "It goes someplace else. Somewhere not in this world. It vanishes when the sun rises and appears when it sets."
"But the sun had already risen, and Alfric was still that . . . thing."
"That's because he was a skinwalker."
Was. He had become a skinwalker and was now dead, crushed beneath Flight's hooves. Fryda had to force herself not to break down again.
"Skinwalkers are the way the wraiths remain while it's daytime," Jaruman said. "They're dangerous things. They might look like the person they were before, but they're not. That thing that attacked you wasn't Alfric. He died the moment the wraith took hold of him."
Fryda swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn't go away. Tightness in her chest prevented her from taking in anything more than a slight breath. She sat on the ground for a while, watching the sun play along the water.
"We'll need to get moving soon," Jaruman said as he saddled the horses. "The wraiths will come again tonight. There's no way we can dodge them without wards, but hopefully they'll be somewhere we're not. I don't want to risk a second night if we can help it."
The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1) Page 8