The crow stayed with them.
Brin didn’t always spot it. In the forest, it was difficult to see anything. A gloom, like a smoky fog, shrouded the world. And then there were the trees, thousands of dead-white sticks. Easy to see why The Brown made so much noise—the branches were weak, brittle things. Bones. Brin tried to press between two and both of them broke, crashing to the ground and shattering to splinters. This forest was not a living thing. Like the people who passed through it, this wood was dead.
“Where will you go?” Roan asked Gifford in her inexplicable way, sentences coming out without rhyme or reason.
“What do you mean?”
“When this is over, what realm of Phyre will you end up in? Ferrol said you were made of finer stock. And you are. I’ve never known a more courageous, more loving, or all-around better person than you. I think you’re bound for Alysin.”
“No.” He scoffed. “You’re just saying that because you see me that way. I’m positive I’ll be in Rel. I doubt that hanging on to the back of Naraspur qualifies me for anything else. The two of us will have a place in that village near Brin’s family. Won’t that be nice?”
“What if I don’t go to Rel?” Roan asked. The whisper grew smaller; the exhale of a mouse would have drowned her out. “What if I end up here?”
“Here?” Gifford followed this with a laugh. “Why would you—oh.” He paused, the laughter cut short, his words dropping in tone. “No. No, you won’t come here.”
“This is where the bad people go, isn’t it?”
“Roan, you’re not bad.”
“But I—”
Gifford stopped to look full at her. “You’re not bad, Roan. You’re not.”
“How do you know? How does anyone?”
Brin listened for the answer, but Gifford didn’t reply.
Pop! Pop! The sharp reports cracked and carried in that still and silent place. This was followed by a horrible blood-chilling scream.
“Was that the portal?” Brin asked shakily.
“Maybe we should walk faster,” Gifford said.
“And get off this road,” Tressa added.
“What if we get lost?” Gifford asked.
“We can’t. We have no idea where we’re going. And right now, I think it would be worse to be found.”
They left the road and pushed into the forest. Brin expected it to be hard going, but the trees remained brittle, shattering at the slightest touch. This was good and bad. The walking was easy, but they left an unmistakable trail, which anyone chasing them could see. Not to mention all the noise. Brin didn’t know if this place had an official name, but in her head, she called it the Dead Wood for obvious reasons, and if she ever managed to return to the world of the living, she would officially name it that in The Book of Brin.
She spotted the crow up ahead, waiting for them. It had landed on a tree branch without breaking it. The bird bothered Brin because it wasn’t normal. The absurdity of that thought almost made her laugh—almost.
What’s normal?
In this place, she hadn’t a clue. Still, she was certain the bird was watching them. Whether that was common or not, she didn’t like it. Its black, beady eyes reminded her of the face in the fire. Ahead, the trees were starting to thin. They were reaching the end of the Forest of Bones. The moment she thought of it, Brin decided she liked that name even better and made a mental note.
The sound of movement made them stop. Someone was coming up the trail from behind and making a lot of noise in the process. There were heavy footfalls, snapping of branches, grunting, and even muffled cries. Every one of them instinctively crouched, and they looked back down the crushed-wood tunnel they had created since leaving the main trail.
Tressa pressed a finger to her lips and eyed each of them with an intense glare. They waited, listening as the sounds stopped. Brin thought she heard faint voices. Then the movement began again, this time closer.
“We’re in trouble,” Tressa whispered. “It saw where we left the road, and it’s coming.”
“Go on,” Gifford said and quietly drew his sword. “I’ll stay here—slow it down, or at least try to. The rest of you should look for help.”
No one moved.
“I mean it,” he whispered with as stern a face as he could muster. “Go on!”
Roan replied with a shake of her head and a hug of his arm.
As they waited, Brin looked for a bright light but saw none. At least Drome hadn’t come. But what monster had he sent to fetch them?
Before long, they saw a figure with two heads and three legs shambling toward them.
Brin prepared herself for the worst. She grabbed up as stout a stick as she could find among the brittle bones of the wood. Roan let go of Gifford as he took a step forward, placing two hands on his sword’s handle. Rain unslung his pick and planted his feet. Then, as the creature cleared the shadow of the trees, Brin saw it wasn’t one, but two. A man and woman struggled to walk—one providing support to the other.
Brin stared dumbfounded as the pair emerged from the gloom.
“Tesh?” she said, the word escaping with her breath.
“Moya!” Gifford shouted.
Either it was a trick of the afterlife or Tesh was there, helping Moya, who hopped along on one foot.
“Brin!” Tesh called. “Give me a hand!”
The Keeper raced forward, pushing through an emotional storm that was equal parts joy and grief. Moya had made it out, but not unscathed, and Tesh was there, but that meant he had died.
“Moya!” Brin gasped. “Your leg. What happened?”
The woman was biting back pain along with her lower lip. Sweat covered her face, and her body shuddered. Her left leg had been severed from just above the knee. Blood soaked the fabric of her leggings and stained her arm; an additional smear darkened one side of Moya’s face. Stuck to it, glued to her cheek, was white chalky dust she’d picked up by resting on the floor of the palace.
“I couldn’t budge the stone,” Tesh apologized. He, too, was splattered with blood, but showed no wounds. “She was pinned, and the block was too heavy. This”—he pointed to the absence of Moya’s leg—“was the only thing I could think to do. Wasn’t bad in Rel. Moya didn’t feel a thing. But the moment we crossed over, she collapsed, screaming in pain. I practically had to drag her.”
Tesh’s belt was wrapped around Moya’s stump, but it wasn’t enough. The limb still drizzled an intermittent stream of blood.
“Lay her down,” Brin commanded. “We need more pressure.”
“Padera always used a stick or ax handle to twist the belt tighter,” Roan said.
“That’s right,” Brin added. “Here, use this.” She passed Roan the stick she had picked up for defense.
Roan twisted the tourniquet tight, making Moya cry out.
“We could make a fire, scorch the stump to seal it,” Tesh said.
Roan shook her head. “Not a good idea.”
“What do we do?” Gifford asked.
“Find help,” Moya growled through clenched teeth.
Tressa nodded. “There has to be someone in this accursed realm besides Ferrol who can do something.”