“We got a winner, folks!”
“Umm, aren’t there easier ways to do that other than throwing me into a room full of hostile Gifted?”
“Sure, but they’re not as fun,” Wynn replied, picking at her teeth.
“Get your dirty boots off my table, Winnie. You know better than that,” Pete said, smacking the back of her head with his elbow. Wynn grumbled, but obeyed as the tavern owner filled the table with eggs, salted pork, fresh bread, and mugs of ale. Mara barely restrained herself from inhaling the food.
Steel’s manners were leagues better than the rest of them. He dipped his head politely and said, “Thank you, sir. We appreciate your fine hospitality.”
Pete waved him off. “It’s no trouble at all. To tell you the truth, it’s a breath of fresh air having someone to serve other than the usual lot. Some of the regulars, well, they’d spit in the food and call it seasoning.”
Wynn laughed and said, “That sounds about right. So, Pete. What’s up with the dead land? Never seen it this bad before.”
“I figured you’d notice that. There’s trouble brewing in Orgate. Warlord Bridgette is pulling all the Cultors back to the capital and, without their Gift to keep the land healthy, it just . . . dies.”
“She’s still Warlord? It’s gotta be going on two years at least.”
“Almost three and she’s panicking, I can promise you that. The clans are moving.”
Mara frowned. “Why would she panic?”
Pete sipped a mug of ale, watching her over the rim. “You’re not from around here, are you?” When Mara shook her head, he continued. “What you have to understand is that Lingate is run by the clans. Right now, the strongest five are Tuir, Rudven, Covalle, Sandor and Gad. Bridgette belongs to the Tuir clan, but they’re struggling. The average lifespan for a Warlord is no more than two or three years. It’s just a matter of time before someone kills her and takes her place.”
“What will happen to the Tuir clan when that happens?” Mara asked.
“Oh, they’ll scatter. It’ll be years before they’re strong enough to challenge the Warlord again. If they’re smart, they’ll keep their heads down. The strong prey on the weak. If you don’t belong to a strong clan, you’d better hope you can be useful. Otherwise . . .” Pete shook his head. “Anyway, it’s best you folks move on quick. No sense asking for trouble when you look one foot in the grave as it is.”
“What about you?”
“Now that Nellie’s gone, I just can’t keep up with the Tavern like I used to. The kids have all moved on to bigger clans and well, I’m just tired of the constant fighting. Think I’ll move to Merrowhaven.”
Wynn stood up and walked around the table, pulling Pete into a tight embrace. “Ya take care of yourself, ya hear?”
“Aww, Winnie. You know I will. Wait here.” Pete disappeared into the kitchen. Mara heard bottles clinking and drawers opening. A few minutes later, he emerged with two sacks full of food and handed them to Wynn. “Now, I don’t know where you’re all headed, and it’s probably best if I don’t ask, but I can’t send you off with nothing. Be careful out there.”
They all thanked him in turn, then set off north, feeling more optimistic than they had in a long time.
20
The night had a distant chill to it, as though winter was preparing to arrive, but didn’t yet deign to make its blustery appearance. Mara had watched a gray sheet of clouds roll in from the horizon, at first with trepidation, then with dismay when the clouds opened up and doused her with icy water. It was as though the weather itself was trying to drown her.
It had taken two weeks for the group to reach the northern edge of Lingate, approaching the border into Aravell. They’d barely paused to rest, singularly focused in their goal to reach Tregydar before the snows fell and blocked their passage. Keep walking. Reach Tregydar. It was the mantra that kept them going, despite the overwhelming exhaustion. Despite the unholy blisters that had opened up on their feet. Despite the constant ache in their limbs and their bellies.
Mara glanced back into the mouth of the cave where the group lay sleeping. She had drawn first watch, though it was a matter of formality by now. They hadn’t seen any signs of the Order since leaving Kearar. Still, it was smart to stay alert.
She stretched her arms over her head, thanking the gods that she had drawn first watch.
It was a blessing. If she had drawn last watch, she would have been awakened prematurely, cursing the world and everyone in it. If she’d drawn middle watch, she would have gotten half the sleep the rest of the group enjoyed. No, first shift was best. Then, when she kicked Steel with her boot, she could crawl under her scratchy blankets, nestle against a rock and fall blissfully to sleep. Well, if she could sleep at all.
The nightmares had returned in full force. But these weren’t the nightmares of the girl who’d escaped Stonehollow in terror. The girl who’d watched a dear friend die. No, these dreams were different. More intense. Sinister.
Mara saw a circle of tall buildings, stretching to reach the sky, corralled within a stifling black iron fence. Robed figures mingled within, unaware of the danger sneaking in their midst. She saw herself, with glowing eyes, balancing a ball of pure energy in each hand. A goddess among men. Their screams would forever haunt her. Even then, she didn’t show mercy, cutting them down like a sickle to wheat. With a wave of her hand, a giant chasm opened, rending the earth in two and swallowing buildings whole. In the center of the death and destruction, Mara stood laughing like a madwoman. In that moment, she had become the villain. A monster.
When she’d first had the nightmares, the group rushed to placate her, peppering her with reassurances.
“It’s just a nightmare,” Wynn said.
“You’re only worried about your potential,” Steel said.
“Once you’ve had some training, you’ll feel a lot better,” Ansel said.
“Perhaps some tea would help.” Tova said.
Mikkal stood as stoic as ever, looking into her soul with those deep, knowing eyes, never voicing his true thoughts. Reflecting back, Mara saw herself for what she truly was, and it scared her. As a result, she spent an hour every day practicing until she could call her powers at will.
Mara twisted the string on her necklace, lost in her thoughts. The rain came down in angry torrents, soaking through her garments in seconds. It washed her, both inside and out, chilling her to the bone. She longed for the familiar comforts of Stonehollow. By now, her mother would have brewed a fresh pot of tea with mint picked fresh from their garden. Mara could have snuggled by a raging fire, wrapped in her favorite blanket. Her father would have stomped inside, bringing a fresh trail of mud and sawdust from his workshop. Sarai would have scolded him for dirtying her spotless floors, but it would have been said with a wry smile and a passionate kiss. She missed them.
Consumed by her private thoughts, she nearly missed the nearby snap of a branch. Mara peered into the desolate landscape, wishing for a fire. She was about to attribute it to a figment of her overactive imagination when she saw it. Gleaming back at her in the darkness were two glowing eyes. They appeared higher than any human would stand. Whatever animal it was would be monstrous.
Mara stood slowly, taking care to not startle the foreign beast. The wildlife in Stonehollow was familiar. A wolf, or the occasional bear were not uncommon, but she couldn’t imagine what manner of animals existed in Lingate. Given the scanty resources, they were likely to be desperate. Keeping one eye on the beast, she reached for her bow and tried to nock an arrow. She cursed as it fell from her shaking hands.
The beast snorted, pawing at the ground with a cloven hoof.
Then, it charged. Mara screamed a warning to the sleeping group, hoping to alert them to the danger. She nocked another arrow, but fatigue prevented her from shooting in time. Then, it was on her. A flash of pain in her forearm made her drop the arrow with a startled cry. Mara whipped her head around, trying to regain her bearings. The beast pivoted, shaking it
s head and squealing. She threw the bow down on the rocks with a clatter and pulled her dagger from its sheath with her uninjured hand.
The ground rumbled beneath her feet as the animal rushed at her again. She managed a clumsy swipe that glanced off of thick fur before an ivory tusk tore into her thigh. Mara pressed a hand to her leg, trying to staunch the bleeding. If the others didn’t wake soon, she would be gutted where she stood. With a sudden burst of inspiration, she dropped the dagger. It wouldn’t help anyway. Then, when the beast bore down for a third pass, she gathered energy in her fists and launched a blast of energy at the animal. In a flash of blinding white light, the beast flew through the air, smashing into the cavern wall with a loud crack.
Mikkal rushed by and jumped on the carcass, driving his sword through its skull. Confident that it would not rise, Mara edged closer. Its fur was thick and coarse. A long snout protruded from a sunken face framed by two white tusks. The rest of the group, rubbing sleep from their eyes, staggered out to investigate. Mara grinned and gestured at the boar. “Dinner.”
“About time ya started pulling yer weight around here, girly,” Wynn joked. She knelt down next to the giant pig and started to skin it. At least they’d eat well for the next few days.
Steel smiled and pounded her on the back, causing her to stumble forward and clutch her injured leg. Now that the adrenaline from the fight had faded, pain flooded her arm and leg. Steel wrapped her arm around his shoulders, taking the weight off her leg. “How badly are you injured?’
“It’s nothing. It won’t slow us down, I promise,” Mara hissed through gritted teeth. They were a week away from the border to Tregydar, at least, and she would not allow a scratch to delay them.
“Mara, I’ve seen lesser injuries kill if not treated properly. Would you please allow Mikkal to clean and dress your wounds?”
Ansel’s eyes volleyed between her arm and thigh and his face drained of color. “Mara. Arm. Leg. Bacon. Ruby.”
“And here ya said I talked funny.”
“Wait, no. He’s right. Remember that crazy lady we told you about in Oxrest? She predicted this,” Mara said, rubbing the sides of her head. What did she say? At the time, they had dismissed the rhymes as the ramblings of an old woman. Now, she wished she had paid more attention. Her head snapped up and she stared wide-eyed at Ansel. “The scorpion! That had to be Tomar.”
“Right, but what about the snare part? There was nothing mouse-like about him.”
“I wish I could remember the rest, but it feels like there’s a wall in my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t get past it.”
Steel lowered her to the ground and gently cut away her torn pant leg. “It’s quite alright, Mara. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Let’s just focus on reaching Tregydar.”
Mikkal knelt on the ground beside her and pulled a small flask from his bag. Mara hissed as he poured the liquid over her wound and involuntarily kicked him in the face. Eyes sparkling, he rubbed his jaw and sat on her legs, being careful not to hurt her. Wynn slipped behind her and held her shoulders in place while Mikkal expertly cleaned and wrapped her leg, followed by her arm. It might have only taken a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Mikkal gave her a sad smile before he and Wynn moved onto butchering the boar.
“Think we can risk a fire to cook it?” Mara drooled, thinking about fat sizzling over the fire and nice, crispy bacon. The desire for real food overshadowed fear of discovery and, at this point, if any disciples showed up, she’d invite them to share.
“I believe it would be worth it. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and find some firewood,” Steel said.
With more than a little anxiety, Mara watched as he disappeared into the darkness. What if there were more of those creatures out there? Without Mikkal by his side, would he be safe? It struck her. Somewhere along the journey, these people had become her family.
Ansel reached under her arms and pulled her to her feet. Mara placed some weight on her leg, testing it out. She winced. “Are you sure you’ll be okay to walk?” he asked, concern bleeding into his voice.
“I’ll be fine. They weren’t too deep,” she said through gritted teeth. In reality, the pain sent a fire through her limbs and she blinked away the black spots clouding her vision. Ansel settled her inside the cavern and she shivered as the cold stone bled through her tunic.
“You were lucky,” he said. The corners of his eyes pinched and he glanced back over his shoulder. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Are you sure this is worth it, Mara? It’s not too late to run away, just say the word.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“It’s just . . . what if we get to Tregydar and no one can help us? What if we’re stranded in a frozen wasteland for the rest of our lives?”
“Well, if the rumors are true, our lives wouldn’t last very long anyway,” Mara said, trying to lighten his mood. She failed.
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. She opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but a voice from outside interrupted.
“Mara?” Tova stood in the mouth of the cave, holding a bundle of something in her hands. “I found some willow bark for you to chew. It’s dried and probably tastes disgusting, but it should help with the pain,” she said with a shy smile.
“Thank you so much.” Mara reached out and took them eagerly, shoving one in her mouth. She almost spit it back out. Tova was right—these were borderline rancid.
Tova shrugged and scuffed her boot in the dirt. “Don’t mention it.”
***
Days passed in a continuous blur and Mara grew weaker by the hour, though she tried her best to hide it from the group. They had bigger problems to worry about than a scratch, and she refused to slow them down any more. Her wounds would heal, but their window to reach Tregydar safely was closing fast. Winter loomed like an executioner. If the fabled tales of the north were to be believed, the snowdrifts would grow to monstrous proportions. Travel would be impossible except for the most suicidal of circumstances. No, they had to press on, no matter the cost.
As they approached the border into Aravell, life gradually returned to the land. A small patch of green here. A splash of color on the trees over there. And with the color came sounds of life. Birds sang in the distant forests and a squirrel chittered as it searched for a safe hiding place for its winter store. Even the wind sounded different. Gone was the eerie rattle of a dying man, echoing over naked land. Here, the wind whistled through the branches like a lively bard.
They stopped for another rest, even though it had only been an hour since the last one. These rests were too frequent to be a coincidence, but they always made some excuse. Steel wanted to eat. Tova needed to sleep. Wynn was tired. As if Wynn would ever admit to being tired. No, Mara knew the real reason. They were babying her, and she was sick of it.
Ignoring the concerned looks of her companions, she limped into the woods, delighting in the feel of living bark beneath her fingers. The rough surface grounded her, reminding her of home. The thick, heady smell of pine wafted through the breeze. Mara leaned against a tree and closed her eyes. She could almost fool herself into believing she were back in Stonehollow, if only for a moment. But reality came too soon, though the feeling of burning pain and the sickly sweet smell of rot.
Mara glanced around, making sure no one was watching before she peeled back the bandage from her thigh. Angry red lines spread out from her wound like a sunburst. The scrape itself was swollen and puckered. Her arm wasn’t much better. The skin felt taut and hot to the touch. She grimaced, debating if finding a leech to suck out the pus was worth an icy bath.
“They’re infected.”
Tova sat on a low-hanging branch, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Mara quickly covered her injuries and tugged the hem of her tunic lower. “It’s fine. It just needs a few more days to heal, that’s all.”
“If you wait much longer, you’ll be dead. You need a Healer.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “Well, if you happen to find one out here in the middle of nowhere, let me know.”
“Don’t be stupid. We can go into the nearest town for help.” Tova dropped from the branch, landing on her heels, and walked over, nose wrinkling at the smell.
“If you think I’m going to risk the safety of the group over a tiny scratch . . .”
“You’re being reckless.”
“That makes two of us,” Mara said. She was not going to stand here and be lectured by the girl who always ran off on her own.
Tova paused, measuring her with those caramel eyes that seemed to read more than you wished. Then, she straightened and shook her head. “If you wish to behave irrationally, I can’t help you. For what it’s worth, I hope you don’t die.”
Mara watched as she disappeared into the tree line, blending into the shadows with perfect harmony. It was more than a little unsettling. Maybe that was the trick. Enemies couldn’t catch her if they never saw her in the first place. She shrugged it off and set to rebandaging her wounds with less than ideal skill. She would have asked Mikkal, but if he saw the injuries, Steel would force them to stop. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
By the time she finished, the group was ready to move on. She chewed a piece of willow bark and trudged ahead, determined to make it on her own two feet.
Two days later, she vaguely registered the feeling of floating and frantic voices, begging her to stay. Stay where? The ground shook beneath her, bumping and jostling. A wet cloth was pressed to her forehead. She was burning. Was she on fire? She registered everything with a cool detachment, as though it were happening to someone else instead.
“Mara, don’t you dare leave me . . .”
Mara . . . who was Mara? She was lucky to have someone care for her that much.
21
Death was far more comfortable than she’d expected. It was weightless, like laying on a bed of clouds or a pillow of the finest down. It was soft and warm, as though she were inside a cocoon, snug and dry. Or perhaps it was like the feeling of being nestled under a pile of blankets during a snowstorm. And it was dark. So dark.
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