‘I’m not. Trust me.’
He’s opening his mouth to say more when a scream tears through the air.
‘What was that?’ I scour the area around me, but the fog is too dense and I can’t see much past where Oke stands.
‘Someone stepped on the ice. My guess is they woke the spirits. If you want to finish this thing, there’s only one way: make it to the other side.’ Kyor meets my eyes and his blue gaze pierces me. ‘Just keep walking, Thorn. I’ll stay as close as I can.’
With that, he takes his first step onto the ice.
Fifty feet away, Oke does the same.
I wasn’t going to be the first, not after hearing that scream, but I don’t want to be the last either, so I draw in a deep breath and take my first step. Any ideas I had of sprinting ahead vanish. The ice is slick and wet, meaning running will likely leave me face-planting and easy prey. And that’s being optimistic. If I hit a patch of thin ice, it’ll be game over.
I adopt a method of lifting my foot as little as possible and sliding forward, and I feel like I’m actually making some progress when it starts.
At first, I assume it’s the wind. A low rumbling, quiet and distant. But it grows closer, sharper, turning into a growl. Even though I can’t see where it’s coming from, my fists clench, ready to strike out the only way I can.
I’m still edging forward, scouring the desolate landscape, now dotted with distant figures, when the first shriek of pain hits me.
It’s not just a random cry. It’s the cry of someone being killed. Murdered. The sound carries over the ice, allowing me to hear the blood filling their lungs as the blade is withdrawn from their sternum. I feel the pain in my own body as if it’s real, yet when I look down, there’s nothing. Nothing but the white furs and brown leather I’m dressed in.
‘Your punishment is long overdue,’ a voice snarls at me. ‘I will take great pride in your death.’ I spin around, searching for the source of the threat, but there’s no one there. The voice is inside my head, I realise, like the voice during the attack at the ball.
It’s not real,I tell myself.
I drop my hands onto my knees, trying to focus on whatisreal. What I can see. What I can touch. As my head remains quiet, I try to steady my breathing. What was it Kyor said? Worry about my mind later? Well, at least I know what he was talking about now.
Both he and Oke are ahead of me, and though Oke has her hands pressed to her forehead as she inches forward, Kyor walks with his hands behind his back. It’s a far cry from the way he normally approaches challenges, but it’s obviously working.
‘Your blood will feed the land of the old one,’ a voice wails as another scream cuts through the icy air. This time the voice is loud enough to make me clasp the sides of my head in agony.
I clench my teeth. ‘You’re just in my head.’ I’m not sure if I’m whispering or whimpering. ‘You’re just in my head.’
‘Am I?’
In front of me, cloudy figures emerge, taking on corporeal form. Hundreds upon hundreds. We are walking through their battleground, the land and ice on which they lost their lives, and we are paying the price for it.
To the left of me, I see one of the white fur-covered figures heading straight for Kyor, his sword raised, ready to strike.
‘Kyor! Watch out!’ I stand transfixed as he turns to look at me. ‘No!’
The Issen’s sword swoops down towards the prince and the air rushesfrom my lungs as the scream leaves me. But Kyor doesn’t fall to the ground, and there’s not a drop of blood as the Issen blade carries on through him.
Blue eyes hold mine. ‘They’re not real, Thorn. Just remember that.’
‘They look fucking real. And they sound it, too.’
He nods. For once, there’s no hint of a smirk on his lips.
‘I know. Keep moving. Get to the finish line,’ he repeats before twisting around and continuing.
‘They’re not real,’ I mutter. ‘And what’s not real can’t hurt you.’ Physically, I correct myself. Mentally, I’m not so sure. Kyor’s comment still lingers, but I’ll do as he advises and worry about my mind later.
More and more warriors appear, shifting into existence through the snow and ice. Not just Issen, but Morathkians, too, still clad in their uniforms. The same uniforms Kyor and Oke are wearing.
So that’s why they chose to dress us like this. So we can’t tell the apparitions of the Morathkians and Issen apart from our fellow Rettlings. It’s sick.
‘You are a traitor,’ a voice rolls through my head. ‘Your blood is tainted.’
