Before he could reach the wagon, Ilgrin was struck in the back and was sent sprawling onto the road. When he looked to see what had hit him, he was disturbed to find that it was the detached head of the old man he’d seen earlier. The monster landed. Ilgrin leapt backward. He glanced at the wagon and wondered if he could make it. The creature stepped forward, a cruel glint in its eye.
Hoping to distract the monster, Ilgrin kicked the old man’s head, sending it rolling across the earth. The monster took the bait and pursued the head, allowing him the opportunity to leap into the wagon’s dark interior.
A ham-sized fist hit the middle of Ilgrin’s chest and slammed him into the wall. A dark face came within a handswidth and a dagger was put to his throat.
‘Ye give me one reason nah ta gut ye right here?’ a deep voice rumbled.
‘It wasn’t me,’ Ilgrin pleaded. ‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘That nah be good enough.’ The big man pressed his blade against Ilgrin’s throat, but when the wagon rocked unexpectedly he lost his grip and fell sideways. The canvas ceiling was torn away to reveal the monster’s giant face hovering above.
‘Seeol!’ cried out the pale woman with dark hair. ‘Please, Seeol!
‘Seeol?’ Ilgrin murmured in disbelief. He understood then why the creature’s eyes were so familiar. ‘It can’t be.’
Seeol ignored the woman and snapped at the brunette girl curled up on the floor, her eyes hidden by hands clamped tight. The monster’s face deformed and its beak shrank to the miniscule size of small bird’s. Its head and body were sucked into themselves and right before Ilgrin’s eyes a transformation took place that resulted in the recreation of the elf owl known as Seeol. His head twitched this way and that from his place perched atop the wagon wall. A look of realisation crossed the animal’s features before he opened his wings and disappeared without a trace.
‘Oh, Maker,’ the dark-haired woman moaned. Ilgrin glanced over to see her weeping, eyes locked on the detached head beside the road. ‘It killed him,’ she choked out. ‘Seeol killed him.’
Seteal stared at Ilgrin with such a familiar loathing that it took only a moment to recognise her as the girl he’d left in the field. ‘You,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll kill you.’ She leapt toward him, showing none of the fear or restraint he’d come to expect from humans.
‘Get off me!’ Ilgrin flung the woman onto a pile of linens strewn across the floor. He leapt out of the wagon to run, but his legs slowed of their own accord. Ilgrin’s thoughts became indistinct. He couldn’t remember what he was running from. He glanced back toward Far-a-mael’s head with a sense of admiration in his heart. He knew the man . . . had even come to care for him.
The woman with long black hair stared at the back of his head. How Ilgrin knew this, was impossible to explain. The white pupils of the Elglair burned into his soul.
‘I have to fix him,’ Ilgrin and El-i-miir said together, their voices merging.
‘El-i-miir,’ Seteal called from behind them, ‘what’re you doing?’
‘He is my gil’rei,’ Ilgrin cried, tears running down his face. ‘I have to save him.’
‘That’d nah be what he wanted.’ A large woman stepped down from the back of the wagon and put a hand on El-i-miir’s shoulder. Ilgrin felt it on his own. ‘There be nah ye can do for him now. It be too late.’
‘That’s not true!’ Ilgrin heard himself shout defensively. El-i-miir thrust out her hand and he felt his legs march forward.
‘The mission is too important,’ El-i-miir grated through clenched teeth. The words bounced across Ilgrin’s brain as though they had been his own.
‘I can’t,’ he said weakly. ‘You will,’ he stated firmly as El-i-miir cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. ‘I will.’ Ilgrin’s lip quivered. ‘I have to save my gil’rei.’
Ilgrin picked up Far-a-mael’s head by a fistful of hair. He felt blood oozing between his fingers as it dangled.
I won’t do it. This is wrong, Ilgrin tried to say in some small part of his mind, but no sound escaped.
Crouching on his knees, Ilgrin lined up the head with the body as a circle of onlookers gathered. El-i-miir glared at him with paralysing intensity. The others huddled fearfully.
‘Don’t do it, El-i-miir,’ Seteal warned, her voice reaching Ilgrin’s ears from a world far removed. ‘It’ll make you no better than them.’
‘I have to,’ Ilgrin sobbed along with El-i-miir. ‘It’s too important. We’ve come too far. Whatever the cost, it’s worth it. It has to be.’
El-i-miir wailed as Ilgrin snapped a hand around Far-a-mael’s throat.
‘Oh,’ Ilgrin sobbed, his fingers tingling as they wrapped around cold flesh. ‘Maker forgive me.’ His tears mingled with the man’s blood. The tingling sensation spread to his hands, his arms and then his chest. He remembered the feeling, although it had been so long. The gil’rei’s skin became a pool of liquefied flesh as the separated parts of his neck writhed beneath Ilgrin’s touch. Vertebrae crunched as bones and nerves slithered back together. Far-a-mael’s face was flooded with colour as blood beat by his heart and pulsed through arteries that’d been collapsed only moments earlier.
A single rattling breath escaped the old man’s lips and his eyes burst open. He rolled onto his side coughing and wheezing.
‘What have you done?’ The gil’rei managed to ask as he stumbled to his feet. He grabbed El-i-miir’s shoulder and shook her until she fell to the earth. Ilgrin’s senses returned in a rush.
‘Gil’rei Far-a-mael.’ El-i-miir put a hand to her throat. ‘I thought . . .’ She trailed off. Far-a-mael tried to speak, but instead wound up coughing uncontrollably. His face was flushed, his eyes bulged. He bent over gagging and choking. A spray of blood intermingled with specks of something black spattered across the dirt.
Far-a-mael gagged repeatedly, but something was blocking his airway. His face turned red and then purple and then at last he vomited, but it was not partially digested food the escaped from within. Out poured a substance that drained the light from the air surrounding it, a darkness caught somewhere between liquid and gas. The whisp hit the earth with force, rebounding, churning back into the air and thinning to a mist as it departed.
El-i-miir’s face, previously so doggedly determined, now bore naught but despair. Far-a-mael sat with a dazed expression, his flesh having faded to grey as the darkness worked its way through his pores. Realising his opportunity, Ilgrin turned to run. He didn’t know where he’d go, but the Elglair were bad news. Anywhere would do.
He stopped short, realising that he shouldn’t leave after all. He turned to Far-a-mael, who stood with a fierce expression in his eyes. A lump caught in Ilgrin’s throat. He fell to his knees encumbered by a sense of impending doom. He couldn’t let them capture him. Ilgrin pushed back, fighting against the intrusive thoughts and feelings forced upon him. He stood and stumbled several strides, but he was so tired.
The young woman lifted her hand and murmured, ‘Sleep.’ And that was exactly what Ilgrin decided to do.
The Inner Circle: The Knowing Page 29