This is supposed to be a race. Is the altar somewhere in this forest? Did I take a wrong turn? Should I go back to the opening and turn left instead of right? Was the scent of Darkness a trick?
No, I can’t believe that such a subtle clue would be a trick. As I stare at the forest in thought, a screech sounds only a moment before sharp claws dig into my neck. I scream and reach behind me to do my best to dislodge the creature.
As I turn, I see the eyeless face, the leathery wings, gaping jaws, and sharp teeth. Askryth. Just like on the Shadow Road. There are ten others flying beside it. Another hits my shoulder, its talons digging through my cloak and scratching my armor. The leather plates protect me from the razor-like claws, but the impact does so much more. Balanced precariously on a limb at an awkward angle, the force of the second skryth overcomes the Cat’s effects on my balance, and I fall.
Chapter 54
Fear is not something I have felt in a very long time. As I watch the paths between so many, I have discovered a terrible fact. The time to stop the first death has passed. And I know who it will be…
~Conversation between Caeldra and Kaelith
Fiona
I hit branch after branch as I fall, my armor doing little to protect me. My head slams into a limb as I twist, my body desperately trying to grasp anything, and I’m shaken by the impact. My fingers find a branch, but it snaps, only slowing my descent for a moment before I hit a limb as wide as my leg. A thin bough stabs me between two of the plates in my leg, and I let out another scream.
But it slows me down long enough to catch myself. I stop moving. My body shakes with fear and pain as I try to gather myself. There’s a screech, and claws rake my chest, but my armor protects me from the skryth’s razor-sharp claws. I lash out with a Bear-infused punch and hit the creature in the face. It crumplesand falls. Its limp body crashes through the branches below before hitting the ground with a soft thud.
It isn’t alone. The thick tangle of branches keeps many of the skryths from getting closer, but it’s only slowing them down. I try to move the leg with shooting pain running through it, and there’s resistance.
The branch is still inside me.I grit my teeth with the knowledge and wrench it free. Immediately, I want to scream again, but I steel my jaw to stay silent.
What I wouldn’t give to have Azric here to heal me, but he’s not. Instead, I reach into my cloak and pull out an Infusion of the Lizard. It won’t heal anything quickly, but depending on how long I’m stuck in this race, having this wound healed could be the difference between me winning and surviving, and me ending up in never-ending torment.
But there’s a risk. For thirty minutes, everything in my body will be fragile. Falling from a tree and hitting my head on a branch could kill me. My skin will be like paper, thin enough that a duskthorn could cause a life-threatening wound.
The Falcon is insisting I move, that I get away from danger, and that Infusion isn’t wrong. I can hear the skryths flying just outside the branches. They could be back here any moment. While I could use the Mark of the Phoenix on them, I don’t really want to be halfway up a tree while it’s on fire.
I take the Lizard and shove the empty vial into my cloak. I have to win, not just survive. I don’t have time to let this wound slow me down.
The ground is twenty feet below me, and in my fragile state, a jump would be the wrong decision even with the Bear running through my veins. Climbing down is my only real option, and I have to hope I’m fast enough that the skryths don’t knock me off first.
I’ve climbed much more difficult things than an oak tree, and luckily, as soon as I’m below the branches, the skryths don’t bother me.
When I’m on the ground, I take a moment to look at my leg. The back of my thigh is covered in blood, and while it hurts to put weight on it, I think I’ll be fine. The branch was small, and I’ve fought with dagger wounds larger than this. It’s not the optimal way to get through a race, but a little pain won’t stop me from making good time.
If only I knew where I needed to go.
Then I notice the mist beginning to move. It slowly takes form, and while I don’t know what it’s becoming, I doubt it’s something good. So, I run into the forest. Every step is filled with the angry pain of a fresh wound. I keep running, though. Suffering is better than death, as Calyr said.
I don’t know where to go, but staying on the outskirts of the forest won’t get me any closer to the altar. My eyes and ears stay alert, but they aren’t the ones that catch the oddity. This entire forest is full of the scents of Nyxthos, but an odor even stronger draws my attention.
Fear. I don’t know if I’ve ever smelled fear like they say wild animals can smell, but I’ve walked among the humans who hadbeen attacked by the Godforged. I’ve seen the way they looked in horror at the bodies of the ones the Priests had killed. Ismelledthe terrible mix of sweat and piss and that strangesomething elsethat always lingers on those who have witnessed death as it passed by them to find their neighbor.
Like the elderly at one of their friend’s funerals. A mother at her child’s bedside as he sweats through a fever.
Darkness’s power, at its core, is about instilling fear. The way Corentin talked to me before ever cutting me. The way the skryths screech before attacking. The way the veilrunners shriek as the pack hunts.
Isn’t that the true power of secrets as well? The fear that they’ll be revealed? Maybe Nyxthos’s actual title should be the God of Fear.
I follow the odor, both disgusted by it and excited at the prospect of finding the path. It pulls at me, so similarly to how I was drawn to Jorren’s ball of light, how I’m drawn to god-touched items. Then I hear the shrieks that seem almost like yips in the moonlight. Not wolves. Not coyotes or foxes. Veilrunners.
The thirty minutes haven’t passed, and true fear rolls through me. My body is still fragile.
I sprint, no longer worried about the pain in my leg. Even Darian was nervous when he talked about veilrunners. They can shadow walk like Azric. Not even steel can protect against their teeth. They run in packs of up to thirty, and they’re as fast as any wolf.
I can’t leave the scent of fear, though. If I get lost, if I lose this trail, I don’t know if I’ll ever find it again. A veilrunner appearsbeside me from the shadows beneath a willow tree, its legs already running.
Shadows wreath its obviously canine feet. Its black fur seems to be coated in oil, shifting and shimmering in the moonlight, but its face is distinctly wolf-like. I don’t stop running as I activate the Phoenix on my breast. A burst of heat flows through my body as I point my hand at the creature. Dragonfire surges over and around it.
