I feel nothing but pure relief when I see we’re nearly out of Delchester Forest. As soon as the break in the trees comes into view, along with the sunset bathing the green pastures ahead, I quicken my pace.
Algar had a point. Delchester should have been namedDeathchester instead. The swamp monster was the worst thing we faced, but eerie sounds from deep in the forest accompanied us all along the way.
None were like the false cries of help from Dulan that made me lose control of my body as I was lured in the monster’s direction, but there were whispers. And on the left path, I heard a woman scream like she was being brutally murdered. It sent chills up my spine but didn’t seem to affect the others as much. I suppose the swamp monster had done them in.
Courtesy of that awful attack, it takes us closer to three hours to get completely out of the forest. My feet were killing me on the path, so I climbed onto Pearl’s back to rest them for a while. I took turns with Algar, whose limp had become more pronounced the longer we walked. We took one break when Rynthea complained about pain in her ribs.
Now we’re clear of that damn forest.
As soon as I feel that first sip of sunlight, I hop off Pearl’s back and jog toward the center of the grassy field.
I toss my head back to peer up at the open sky, admiring the beautiful swirls of pink and orange as well as the flat white clouds scattered throughout. A ten times better view than the dark, hovering treetops of the forest.
In the distance is a gray stone mountain flanked in greenery with an abundance of lush, leafy trees spread throughout its rocky paths. The peaks seem to touch the sky while the broad bodies of mountains run east and west for miles.
Zephra flies past me, and her transparent pink wings catch in the light as her fur and tail sway with the wind.
Rynthea staggers past. “Let’s keep going.” Her left leg is injured, too, a small gash, but she wrapped it in bandages before we continued on the middle path. “Bernwood’s gates are not too far away, and it’s best to get there before dark.”
“Don’t they lock their gates after a certain time?” Algar asks.
“Yes, to keep pests likeyouaway,” Rynthea throws at him.
Algar snorts. “One day you’ll be kind to me, Rynthea.”
“Thisisme being kind to you. Now hurry up.”
I laugh as I trail behind them.
Thane is in the back, guiding Pearl again. I haven’t spoken to him since our argument near the swamp…if I can even call it an argument. It felt more like a scolding. Regardless, I don’t see the point in apologizing for something I had absolutely no control over. He knows this, too, yet it feels like he’s blaming me for every single thing.
Sure, a part of it was my fault, and I do feel terribly guilty that they were hurt, but I literally felt helpless in that moment. I was under some kind of trance, and like he said—the forest preys on the vulnerable.
I suppose that’s why he’s truly upset with me.
Because he thinks I’m this weak, pathetic mortal—the complete opposite of him and his unyielding power. I bet he’s having second thoughts about this journey, too.
I try not to let those thoughts weigh me down and enjoy this moment of walking through the knee-high grass. Even the air feels cooler and less stiff now as a sweet hint of jasmine and honeysuckle drifts past my nose. A low trickle of water sounds nearby, likely from a brook.
My mouth dries. The sound of water reminds me of how thirsty I am. Rynthea offered us individual canteens before leaving Kamtaur, but we ran out shortly after the swamp.
Eventually—and much to my relief—we reach a wall of stone. Built into the center are two towering iron gates with the lettersBandWengraved in the handles. Four guards stand before it while two more gaze down from watchtowers on the opposite side of the wall. All are beastials of various species.
One is built like a bear. Another has green fish scales on its face but seems mostly mortal. The beastial farthest to the right has the broad stature and fur of a gorilla, and the other has the eyes and skin of a snake. The two in the watchtower have eyes like owls with brown feathers protruding out of vents in their silver helmets.
“Permits,” the bear beastial demands as we approach.
Rynthea digs into her rucksack to fish something out. While she does, the other guards scrutinize us. As Rynthea hands the bear her permit, he wrinkles his nose and says, “What the shadows is thatsmell?”
“Swamp monster,” she responds with a shrug.
The guards look at one another, disgusted. “Aswamp monster?” the bear scoffs.
“Yes. Look at us.” She gestures to her filthy clothes before showing him her injured leg. “We’re hurt, covered in slime, dirty water, and monster blood, so the sooner you let us in, the quicker we can make use of the baths. Gods know I need one right now.”
The bear sniffs the air again, then turns his head away to dry-heave.
“Stop trying to smell it, then,” the gorilla grumbles to the bear.
