by Liz Delton
Sylvia found no trace of footsteps leading off the path, but she was sure Maddy had gone this way. She left the path and trudged parallel to the city’s wall, hoping against hope that Maddy would have chosen the shorter route and headed after her mother and Skycity. Though still dangerous for an unexperienced Rider, at least she wouldn’t be walking straight into the wolf pack that chased Jamesfeld.
The wilds were the beasts’ territory, ever since the Four Cities had been founded, when the people had retreated behind their walls to rebuild after the chaos and emptiness that followed the world wars.
Sylvia sometimes wished the cities hadn’t been built so far away from each other, and that the people hadn’t merely let the land in between grow wild and let the predators take over, but it was so long ago that she knew there could have been a dozen good reasons for it at the time. A thousand years was a long time for people to forget the reason things were done. She didn’t even know why those who trudged across the wilds were called Riders. And sure, the wilds were dangerous, but that was what made being a Rider a skill, and not just a profession.
She also thought it a shame that only the Riders got to see the other cities, for they were all so unique. Although she had seen the perfectly carved Grand Staircase of Riftcity, which separated the two stone faces the city was carved out of, and she’d seen Skycity perched high upon its mountain, she still preferred Meadowcity’s earthen villas surrounded by the old treewall, with its trees planted one next to another around the city.
But the freedom that allowed her to see all the Four Cities and their wonders came with a risk, a risk that Maddy hadn’t quite calculated.
Sylvia sincerely hoped Maddy was armed, and knew how to wield her weapon, because once she peeled away from the city’s wall and headed toward the forest to the north, she spotted something that made her reach for her own knife.
A mountain lion lay slumped on the mossy ground just inside the trees. Sylvia froze and sunk into a crouch. She had come across sleeping lions only rarely, and she knew well enough it was never a good idea to get too close. She was surprised this lion had come so close to the city. What had drawn it here?
Now out of sight from either of the city’s gates, she circled around the lion and into the trees, trying to get a better look at the thing. She had spotted something around its muzzle that she couldn’t tell whether it was a shadow—or blood.
Was it dead or asleep? She wasn’t at all keen on waking it if it were asleep, but she decided that she definitely needed to figure out if that was blood or not.
Glad she was wearing her soft-soled leather boots, she silently crept over the thin layer of dead leaves. A breeze rolled across the plain between the trees and the city, stirring the lion’s fur and a few leaves at the edge of the wood. Sylvia froze again, waiting and watching.
The lion didn’t stir. She was close enough now to see that it wasn’t breathing, and she relaxed a little. She was also close enough to tell that it was indeed blood that coated the fur around the beast’s jaw. Her stomach gave an unpleasant swoop.
She drew closer without thought, and she scanned the area around her. Though she couldn’t tell what had killed this beast, she could see that it’s victim had left behind what was undeniably a large puddle of blood nearby.
“Maddy,” she gasped—yet desperately hoped at the same time that it wasn’t. Sylvia darted toward the puddle, skirting around the lion’s limp body. Whoever—or whatever— had killed this mountain lion was seriously wounded, judging from the size of the pool of blood gathered on the leaves. What were the chances it had been Maddy?
She could tell by the red drops leading from the puddle that the victim headed north after the attack. She refused to think it was Maddy until she knew for sure.
She rose back to her feet and walked a few paces away, taking deep breaths and looking skyward. Only a sunny sky beamed down upon her, despite the gory scene beside her. She took one last deep breath and squared her shoulders.
Her long blade ready at her side, she headed north, following the increasingly frequent drops of blood on the leaves. She moved quickly, her blade out in front of her as she half-ran half-walked through the trees.
The wilds were silent, and she kept her focus divided between following the unsettling crimson path and watching the woods around her for any other beasts that might be prowling nearby. It was second nature to her since becoming a Rider—the watchfulness that would keep her alive when outside the walls of the cities. The dead lion and the track of blood she was following were more than enough to set her on alert.
After twenty minutes of following the trail, her stomach had twisted itself into several tight knots. The droplets had become more frequent, heavier. Then she spotted a large smear of blood on a rock nearby. Just as she dropped down to examine it, though, she heard an almost silent rustle of leaves ahead. She whipped her head up.
There, far down the path, dripping blood, but focusing all its attention on the path ahead of it, was an enormous mountain lion. Nearly six feet long, it had a large gash on its side, no doubt from the jaws of the dead lion at the edge of the woods. Some distance ahead of it—about as much distance between Sylvia and the lion—walked a girl carrying a pack.
Four