Lara swallowed. “Avoid what?”
“The Grey Ghost.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Can you feel it?”
“You mean the certainty I’m already dead?” Roth’s face had pinched. Behind him, Duana paled.
“That’s it,” Cailean ground out. “The wraith is following us.”
“Why have we stopped?” Mor materialized through the fog astride Dorka, Sablebane and Fern emerging like shadows behind her.
“Do you hear footsteps?” Vyr called out to his cousin.
“No, I—” Mor’s words died. Her expression went rigid. Her dark eyes swept over the group clustered on the narrow path.
The footsteps were louder now. Heavier. Closer.
Lara’s grip on the reins tightened. Beneath her, Bracken shifted and trembled. She glanced back over her shoulder, peering into the wall of grey.
A shape loomed there. Massive. Taller than any man or Shee she’d ever seen. Not quite solid. Not quite smoke. Something in between.
“Gods!” Annis’s choked voice tore through the mist. “It’s coming!”
Aye. No doubt. No question. The knowledge settled in Lara's bones with absolute certainty. She whispered a prayer, the words tumbling over each other. Beside her, Duana and Eithne clutched the iron charms at their throats.
Lara’s breath came fast and shallow. She looked back again.
The shadow had vanished.
Bree cursed, her blade scraping from its sheath. “It’s above us now. Look!”
Lara’s gaze jerked upward. Tors rose through the fog toward the hidden summit. And there—moving through the drifting grey—the tall silhouette approached.
How had it moved so fast?
Crunch. Drag. Crunch. Drag.
The sound came from everywhere now.
Ruari choked on a prayer. Ren opened her mouth to sing, but the note came out strangled and died to a whimper. Fear had wrapped itself around the bard’s throat and squeezed.
“Don’t let it take you.” Alar’s words cut through the fog. “We need to keep moving.”
An anguished cry echoed across the mountainside.
“Eithne!” Duana gasped.
Her sister had launched herself from behind Cailean, skirts bunched in her fists, and now bolted back down the way they’d come. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard.
Ren tore past on her pony, sobbing, her small body hunched low. Ruari galloped after her.
“Fuck!” Cailean wrenched his horse around. “You’re all going the wrong way!”
They didn’t hear. Couldn’t hear. Terror had them now.
Annis sat frozen in her saddle, eyes locked on the shadowy figure. The mist rolled in, swallowing them. Lara felt the pull then—the urge to run, to flee, to do anything but stay here with that presence bearing down on them. Sweat poured off her despite the mountain cold. Her body trembled.
“We have to get them back!” The words burst from her. “Cailean. Roth. Go—”
“You won’t find them in this fog.” Mor’s voice sliced through Lara’s panic. “But we can. Wynn. Vyr. With me.”
