The lift came to a halt against a platform jutting out of the mountain. A short flight of steps took us onto a dusty path that carved its way through stone-figure littered grounds toward the Main Building.
In the daytime, with the gray sky hanging low and heavy, the sprawling four-story castle looked large and imposing. But at night, bathed in the silver glow of a crescent moon, it seemed to stretch out forever, held in place by shadows that dominated every crevice and corner of the statuesque structure. The path melted into shrubs and brush, a wild landscape of flora and stone. It would be easy to get lost here at night, but the lights of the Main Building acted as a guide.
A group of students came up behind us, dressed in casual wear of loose trousers, cream tunics, and long wool coats, too engaged in their conversation to give us a second glance. They seemed young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Arcanus, if the neutral colors of their clothes were anything to go by.
A huge shadow darted across our path and into the brush on our left. Clary let out a yelp, barely dodging it in time.
I froze, body on high alert. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Dori said quickly.
Clary nodded, hand on her chest. “Let’s just keep going.”
“That wasnotnothing.” I followed the thing’s trail, spotting dark splodges on the ground where it had passed. Blood? “It’s bleeding.”
“Sounds about right,” Dori muttered.
“What?”
Clary hugged herself, eyes darting this way and that. “We should go.”
“Come on.” Dori urged us to continue, but a mournful whimper stopped me in my tracks once more.
“Ignore it,” Dori said, grabbing my arm and forcing me to pick up the pace.
A pained whine trailed after us.
A cry for help.
How could they urge me to walk away? Their actions made no sense. What did make sense, what felt right, was stopping to help. I dug in my heels. “Something’s hurt.”
“We can’t help him,” Clary said.
“Him?”
Dori shot her a glare.
The whine came again, thick with pain, dejected and despondent. I moved toward the sound instinctively, stepping off the path and into the brush.
“Ana, don’t!” Dori made a grab for me, but I shook her off, diving deeper, past a gargoyle with outstretched wings and another sporting a vicious sneer.
Another whimper, followed by panting—the kind that spoke of a desperate attempt to manage pain.
“Anamaya?” Clary’s voice wavered. “Stop.”
“I need to see.”
Dori caught up with me. “Trust me, you don’t, because you can’t help him. No one can.”
I rounded a cracked, dried-up fountain, where a large hound-like beast lay panting on his side. The scent of blood coated the air, seeping from the many wounds scoring his body, and my skin pricked with the heat of rage.
The wounds were deep lacerations, dragging through flesh but jagged in places, as if hooks had caught the skin. If I had to guess the weapon used, I’d say a barbed whip.
Behind me, Clary let out a strangled cry, and the creature’s eyes rolled in our direction. He snarled, attempting to sound menacing but failed when the sound dissolved into a whimper.
He was too hurt to protect himself. “It’s okay.” I held up my hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Ana…” Dori reached for me again, but I shot her a warning glare, and she backed off.
