Shifting the knife to her left hand, Caelia took the sword in her right. A snapping sound. Gendrin fell to the ground, his shield broken in two. The beast stood over him, sword raised above his head. Caelia ran, the sword cocked back.
As if sensing her, the beast turned, its blade slamming into hers and knocking it from her numb fingers. Stunned, she could only watch as the beast pulled its blade back to deliver a killing stroke.
Gendrin lunged at it from behind, wrapping his arms around the creature’s legs and wrenching. He screamed in agony even as they fell.
They rolled. The beast came out on top of Gendrin, who was still screaming. Caelia lifted the knife still in her hand and ran at the creature. Its sword appeared in its hand, summoned from the hell it had disappeared to.
She slammed the knife home between the beast’s shoulders. The creature let out a guttural cry. Shadows escaped like steam—so icy cold they burned her hand, forcing her to drop the knife to the ground. The consuming black of the creature’s robes flickered to moth-eaten gray. It looked back at her, rage seething from its being, and then turned again to Gendrin.
No time to pick the knife back up. She didn’t think. She just jumped on the creature’s back. And then she understood why Gendrin had screamed.
Shadows, oily and dark, slid into her. Shadows that filled the aching hollow inside her with ice and thousands upon thousands of screaming deaths. Her death was simply one more.
She screamed. The creature slammed his elbow into her sore side, but she did not loosen her hold. Gendrin’s scrabbling fingers found the knife she’d dropped. He lunged forward, the blade sinking into the creature’s gut. It flickered even more, becoming less solid beneath her.
They could do this. They could kill it. Feral joy broke free something wild inside her. She bent forward, biting down on the creature’s neck. Shadows and blood flooded her mouth—blood that tasted of iron and rot.
Against her will, her body went limp. She slid off the beast’s back and landed in a crumpled heap. On her side, she watched as the beast and Gendrin wrestled, Gendrin struggling to keep the beast’s sword from his throat.
It takes a team. Fighting the strange weakness that had come over her, she gathered her knees under her. The movement seemed to wake up her sluggish body. She coughed suddenly, black blood spewing from her mouth—if just touching the creature had made her sick, what could its blood do? Her muscles locked up as she coughed again. She spit, her body growing stronger.
Strong enough to crawl to the sword she had dropped. Pick it up and stagger toward the beast, each step growing stronger until she was running. She thrust. The sword pierced it as though it were made of spider webs. It threw its head back, screaming.
Caelia nearly dropped the sword. Nearly covered her ears and cowed. Instead, she wrenched the sword up, straight through its center. The beast imploded, writhing shadows sucking inward until an outline of ash remained.
Chapter Nine
Alamant
Fighting the nausea that suddenly roiled in her gut, Caelia met Gendrin’s gaze. She dropped the sword, stepping through the drifting ashes to sink to his side. Then she leaned over and vomited onto the ground.
“Ancestors,” Gendrin said. “You got its blood on you.”
He ran back to the tree and came back with a waterskin. He washed her chin and made her rinse and spit three times before he searched her. He found her burned hand. She winced as his hands pressed against the bruise in her side.
“Did he cut you? Even a scratch?”
She shook her head.
“Are you sure? Their blades are even more poisoned than their blood.”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t, but the blade hadn’t come anywhere near her.
He gripped her arms, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? That was a wraith. Caelia—they’ve three hundred years of training.”
Wraith. The beast is called a wraith. And I killed it. The forest take her. Whatever fleeting courage had seized her abandoned her entirely. She sat down hard on her backside.
“You said it took teamwork,” she managed weakly.
He pulled her into a hug. “I’m glad you listened.”
She laughed, giddy with relief. “Me too.”
He got to his feet, favoring his right leg. “Come on. It’s hard to tell when the sun has crested the horizon when it’s stormy. There might be more.”
“There are more?” She stood, her side aching. She felt all-over shivery and detached.
He grabbed his sword and the knife she’d abandoned. They scrambled up the same tree they’d spent the night in. Sitting sideways on his hammock, they split what remained of the dried meat and soggy travel bread. Gendrin loaded his pack.
She swallowed hard. “We’re cursed, aren’t we?”
“Cursed to be apart. To live in ignorance or death.” He pivoted to look at her. “You don’t know everything there is to know about the Alamant. The curse. You’re not going to like parts of it.”
She frowned. “Am I going to be angry with you?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe?” He shrugged. “It’s not too late to go home.”
Not yet. “Is the Alamant really all you described?”
“The beautiful parts, yes. But there is darkness too.”
“There is always darkness,” she whispered.
He held out his hand in question. She took it, allowing him to help her down.
✽✽✽
By that afternoon, Caelia’s wound felt hot and tight. She huddled in her cloak, shivering with fever and struggling to keep up. Gendrin kept casting nervous glances at her and the sun in its inexorable arc across the cloudy sky.
At lunchtime, he made her sit beneath an overhang. “How bad is it?”
Her head ached, her back ached, her leg ached. Not to mention her bruised side and the weeping blisters on her hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He pulled up the hem of her skirt, revealing the teeth-marks, which were red and shiny and swollen. Though honestly, Caelia thought it looked better than it felt.
Gendrin passed a hand over his head in frustration. “I can do field dressings, but this . . . You need a healer.”
“Then we better make it to the Alamant.”
He swore, clearly debating.
“I’m not spending another night in a freezing tree,” Caelia chattered. Much as she’d grown to enjoy cuddling with him, she didn’t think her body could take it.
Gendrin offered her some food he’d managed to gather, but she wasn’t hungry. He wolfed it down instead and took his belt back, strapping his sword to one side. He pulled her up, slung her over his shoulders, and started off.
✽✽✽
The shadows were back. The same shadows that had swum above Caelia’s sick bed after her baby had died. Now and then, they dove down, gnawing on Caelia’s bones. On her leg. She was so tired. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t. The pain and the shadows tormented her.
“I want my baby,” Caelia cried softly.
“I know,” Gendrin said.
“They’re hurting me. Make them stop hurting me.”
He picked up the pace. “We’re almost there, Caelia. Hold on.”