“You really can hear them,” he says.
I sink down slightly, lips curled in a grimace. I’ve tried my best to hide it, knowing I’m the only one of us who seems able to hear his Shades. “Is that…rare?”
“It is,” he says. “I can’t hear any Shades but my own.”
Sloth paws at my lap, so I pet the top of his head despite the icy air that nips my fingers. At least the cold air and soft fur keep me from thinking about how just a minute ago hot skin was beneath my hand. I hazard a glance at Dominic, ready to ask him more about his Shades, but he’s gone rigid. Alert. Eyes narrowed on something beside the road.
I follow his line of sight.
There’s a small clearing among the trees to the right, where three wagons like ours are parked. There’s no sign of a campfire, no horses tethered nearby. It isn’t the first time we’ve come across abandoned wagons left in shambles after a Shade attack. But at second glance, these aren’t old and weathered or covered in moss and ivy. As we draw nearer, I see that despite the lack of a fire, there is a pit around which several bodies sit. No, not sit.
Slump.
Over logs, a stump, on a cot. Only one of the bodies remains upright, the bright snow illuminating their back, the subtle movement of their shoulders.
“Fuck,” Dominic whispers.
“What is it?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Wake the others. Don your masks.”
“Is it…”
He gives a sharp nod. “Incarnate.”
Chapter Nineteen
Dominic
If there’s one thing I wanted to protect my Summoners from, it’s witnessing an Incarnate. The carnage created by a Shade is one thing. Incarnates are another. No one should have to face such a creature. And there’s no doubt in my mind that’s what awaits us. No living human would dare linger in the dead of night without a proper fire. Not to mention the gore that surrounds the sole moving body.
I stop our wagon just ahead of the clearing, ensuring the creature can’t see us from where it sits. It will soon know of our approach, but I’d rather our option for a quick getaway isn’t immediately visible. “Calvin,” I say.
“On it.” He climbs into the front seat and takes the reins. His hood is already raised, tugged low over his eyes, and his movements are quick and alert. He’s used to these kinds of surprise interruptions to his sleep.
I round the wagon to where the other three emerge with their masks in place, the hoods of their cloaks up. “First of all,” I whisper, “I’m giving you a choice here. You can come with me or stay with Calvin. To be honest, there’s little a Summoner can do to aid with killing an Incarnate. They aren’t as easy to calm with art, and it can often enrage them instead. But there may come a time in the futurewhen you’ll have no choice but to stand beside me and face one. If you want that time to be now, then come with me. If not, stay here.”
Inana is the first to answer. “I’ll go.” Her voice trembles, but there’s determination in it too. I didn’t expect anything less.
Harlow shifts from foot to foot, gaze darting through her mask toward the dark campsite. “I…I’ll stay with Cal.”
Bard clutches his cloth-wrapped mandolin to his chest, then finally nods, dipping his bronze wolf mask. “I’ll go.”
“Sit next to Cal,” I say to Harlow. “He doesn’t have a mask, so he’ll have to keep his head lowered most of the time. You can be his eyes. Keep watch. If any nearby Shades show signs of agitation, sketch calming images.”
She gives a jerky nod before rushing to the front of the wagon and scrambling up beside Calvin.
To Inana and Bard, I say, “Many of the same rules we use for Shades apply to Incarnates. Stay calm. Don’t react with fear. Don’t make any sudden moves. The difference is that an Incarnate believes it’s human. It has the memories of the body it consumed. Anything that reminds it that its identity is false will trigger its rage and make it attack. We will approach it as fellow travelers and speak to it as if it’s human. The last thing we want is for the creature to suspect our intent and run. We can’t afford to hunt the thing through the woods while getting chased by Shades. As soon as I attack, the Shades will feel threatened and turn aggressive. That’s where you will come in.”
“You just said we could have stayed back,” Inana says. “How would you have gotten away without us?”
“My sword will be aflame,” I say. “I’ll be able to ward the Shades away. That doesn’t mean I won’t appreciate your aid. Yet you can still change your mind. You don’t have to come with me.”
Neither seems interested in reconsidering their choice.
“Come on, then. Follow my lead. Breathe.” Slowly, we make our way from the wagon to the clearing. My steps are purposefully even, and the other two match their pace with mine. Our soles crunch over the snow-dusted road, loud enough to alert the Incarnate of our approach yet not so loud that we come across as a threat. This thingbelieves it’s human, after all, and travelers are known to share their campsites with others on dark nights.
As we draw near, I notice furs in the back of one of the wagons and crates in another. The campers must have been trappers or traders. Finally, the campsite grows clearer: the bodies slumped around the firepit, the Incarnate perched on a log, hunched over something in its hand. I flex my fingers, craving the hilt of my sword but knowing now is not the time. Without any source of light in the clearing save for the moon above, igniting my sword from behind would draw the creature’s eye at once and inform it of the threat.
