~Chapter Twelve~
The thunderstorm was in full swing by the time I’d washed off the travel grime and changed into one of my tunic dresses and leggings. We ate in a large dining hall that should’ve been majestic, but instead felt unused and way too large for the eight of us.
“I’m sorry there isn’t much,” Lord Hugh apologized. “I haven’t been eating much as of late.”
He still wasn’t, I noticed. Petre half-heartedly pulled a chicken leg onto his plate and then stared at it blankly. Rain finally caved and began slicing off small pieces for him to chew slowly. I ate my own dinner pensively, thinking quickly. I had too many questions to pay attention to my food.
“Lord Hugh,” I said, breaking the silence of the meal. “The Du’rangor isn’t the only trouble you have around here, is it?”
He sighed, picking at some roasted vegetables as thunder rumbled above us like a restless giant.
“No. Because we’ve had so many people missing, work goes undone. We’ve been cut off from our sister city, Nurmin; the bridge collapsed a month ago, and we don’t have any other way of getting across the river. Not to mention the dam upriver. The Orthandrellians have laid claim to the water by damming it. Now we have almost no water and no supplies.”
“Why haven’t you sent for help?” I asked. “The Masters could help.”
Lord Hugh met my gaze with haggard eyes.
“We have sent for help, many times. Each time, there has been no response.”
I clutched my fork tighter, and stabbed a piece of chicken, imagining it was Iain or Netalia. I’d almost guessed that they were only concerned with their own state. Stanthor was in perfect condition, everyone in the villages was happy, the pastures were green, and the river flowed plentiful and without hindrance. But when another state called for assistance, they turned a blind eye.
Why? I wondered, chewing thoughtfully. Were they really so self-centred? I bet they wouldn’t be pleased when they found out Jett had let us come here. Now we will return with tales of a state in poverty and leaders who will not help their people.
Something stuck in my mind; something Jett had said about them banishing people. I frowned. It was difficult to access that memory, but I knew what he had said. I didn’t doubt for a second that students who returned with news of how poorly the other states were doing and the lack of help being offered by those in charge would rocket them to the top of the ‘To-Banish’ list.
I paled at the thought of leaving this place. Despite my attempts to get home, I knew that I didn’t really want to go back to Ar Cena, to doing half school and half work. I didn’t want to return to the normal nine-to-five melee.
I glanced sideways at Dena who was eating in silence. Maybe it would be better for everyone if we helped Abdoor back to their feet.
First things first though, we had a Du’rangor to kill.
After the meal, Petre and Lord Hugh retired to a parlour somewhere to grieve in solitude. The rest of us climbed the stairs to our bedrooms with heavy hearts. Instead of going to my own room, I followed Dena to hers.
“I couldn’t bear to be alone right now,” I told her. “This whole place is so miserable.”
Yasmin, Rain and Theresa obviously agreed with me. They knocked on the door five minutes later and asked to be let in.
We chatted amiably, trying to distract ourselves from the hideous task at hand.
“So Dustin didn’t want to come with us?” Rain asked after a little while.
My heart plummeted.
“Oh no,” I whispered. “I forgot to tell him!”
The others stared at each other and then me.
“What do you mean?” Dena asked.
“I forgot to tell him that I was going to be away. I didn’t even mention it.” How had I forgotten? I chewed my lip anxiously.
“Sky, is everything alright between you two?” Yasmin asked finally.
“How so?” I said just a little too sharply.
“Do you still... like him?”
“Of course I do!”
But I was lying. When I lay in my bed at night now, I wished for another’s company, someone with muscles like rocks and scarred hands that had carefully supported me. One whose heart beat with a steady rhythm of concern as he looked at me.
I shoved those thoughts away angrily. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to consciously admit it. I didn’t want to think about the way his hands had felt in mine during the soul ceremony. I certainly didn’t want to entertain the memory of swimming with him at the waterhole, for every time I did, I remembered Dustin had been there too.
Only Dena, watching me closely, noticed my silence and my hands fidgeting in my lap.
I slept fitfully, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed. The eyes in my dreams turned from loving yellow to concerned orange to Du’rangor red. When that happened, I sat bolt upright, my chest heaving and my unsheathed dagger in my hand. Moonlight streamed through my window like cold water, bathing me in its icy grip – the storm had finally broken. I hugged my knees to my chest, not caring that the blankets slid off and bared my legs to the night air. Tears ran down my cheeks as I gasped for air.
I was terrified of the Du’rangor, but I was more worried about my friends. They’d seen it dead on the ground. They’d seen me kill it with only a small knife. They hadn’t seen the look of determination in its hellish red eyes, they hadn’t heard it snarling as it reached for me in my tree, ready to pluck me from its branches like a ripe orange. I was so worried that they were going to underestimate this beast, or that Petre or Yasmin would let themselves give in to their emotions and forget all of their training and any words of advice I managed to drum up.
By the time morning broke, I’d half convinced myself to go after the Du’rangor all by my lonesome.
I waited for the others to wake, or venture out of their rooms, as I suspected I wasn’t the only one who’d spent the night awake. While I waited, I cleaned and polished my swords, and then enchanted them with the magical equivalent of lighter fluid. I’d had a few ideas about killing the beast, and I’d settled on this one.
When I heard the others moving about in their rooms, I changed into my breeches and a baggy shirt that allowed me to move freely. I pulled my boots on and then rolled my hair up in a bun, poking a charm needle through it. I hoped no one asked about the origins of this particular charm; I’d found it on my bed the night before we’d set off. Attached to a long hair pin, the silver charm dangled from a short chain. When I’d probed it, curious about this mysterious gift, it had flickered with orange light. I’d left it alone after that.
However, the charm was shaped for protection, and after my investigation, I knew what it could do. So I threaded it through the bun, hoping the others would just think it was a fashion accessory and not question its origins.
I joined the others in the dining room for steam buns and tea. We ate quickly in silence, our stomachs churning. When Lord Hugh entered and asked if we’d like to head off, we were almost relieved to be doing something.
We went to the stables to tack up our horses. Echo inspected the charm pin in my hair, pulling back her curious nose quickly when it flared up at her. I patted her on the nose and advised her to leave it alone. I got the impression that she agreed.
We rode out to the marshlands that Lord Hugh had pointed out to us the night before. My apprehension grew as we neared the marshland, the clouds roiling above us again. For all the lightning and thunder of the previous night, almost no rain had fallen onto the stricken land.
The marshland was marked by a post with a faded sign, warning us not to take our horses any further. The ground, despite the lack of rain, had somehow remained a marshland, the putrid mud sucking at our horses’ hooves. We pulled them up to a halt, peering into the low brush that covered the marshlands. It would
be a harrowing journey, and certainly not one that I was looking forward to.
“We can hitch the horses here,” Lord Hugh was saying as he dismounted.
I was just looping Echo’s reins around the post when Yasmin spotted someone in the distance.
“Lord Hugh!” It was a messenger from the estate. “Sir, it’s urgent. The townspeople are on the verge of rioting, sir, something about no bread-”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, sighing heavily. “Sorry, but it looks like I leave you here. You can continue if you wish-”
“Yes,” Petre said immediately, his eyes on the dark marsh in front of us. “We do wish.”
Lord Hugh nodded to us as though wishing us luck, and then departed with the messenger. Petre finished hitching his horse and began to stomp into the muck. We followed carefully.
The mud was disgusting. When it got too deep we had to be careful that our boots weren’t sucked from our feet, and the little water that the marshes managed to hang on to was stagnant and vile. There were small islands of solid ground, marked by cattails, and whenever we reached one, it was a welcome relief.
The mud also made tracking the Du’rangor very easy. About an hour into our search and the marshes, Yasmin came across a paw print that was almost exactly like the one we found on Paw Island. I ran my finger around the edge of it with mixed feelings; terror, because it was indeed a Du’rangor, and we were well within its hunting territory, and adrenaline fuelled anticipation.
Petre came back to us as we stood around the print and handed us all two little earplugs.
“These will seal when the sound level reaches a certain pitch. They’ll protect us from its howl.”
We put them in our ears. They were a good idea, I had to admit. Now the Du’rangor had lost one weapon in its considerable arsenal.
We searched the marsh for hours, staying together. Overhead, the thunderstorm finally broke, and thunder growled around us as lightning flickered through the sky. It was only when it began to rain, softly at first but then heavier, that I decided it was too dangerous and told the others we should leave.
I saw Petre’s shoulders slump, and I squelched my way over to him, squinting through the falling rain.
“We can’t see anything in this downpour,” I said loudly over the noise. “This is to the Du’rangor’s advantage, not ours.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly and began to follow me. Our horses were soaked, and the ride back was miserable. I was glad to see the manor house lit up – Lord Hugh must’ve quelled the townsfolk.
We filed inside after looking after the horses, and the others made for their rooms. I stood next to Petre, dripping on the embroidered carpets.
“We’ll find it,” I said, trying to reassure him. “We won’t leave until we’ve killed it.”
“It’s not the Du’rangor I’m worried about,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s Sammy.”
And then right there in front of me, he cried. Great heaving sobs that shook his shoulders. I hugged him, still wearing our swords, our clothes plastered to our bodies with freezing rainwater.
I’d never known grief as Petre did then. I didn’t know how it felt to lose someone, let alone a younger sibling. I felt useless and utterly horrid. I wished desperately that I could do something more.
“Is there anything else we can do?” I asked quietly when he calmed down.
“No. You’ve done enough. I just,” he rubbed his eyes furiously. “I just want to find him so we can put him to rest. I can’t bear...” he broke off as his voice left him. He cleared his throat. “I can’t bear to think about him out there in the rain.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but as I crawled into bed that night I felt even worse than I had before.
Soul Fire Page 30