It looks like a spider sitting on my chest.
He speaks coldly. “Make a wrong move and the thread I’ve wound through you will cut across your body like a knife. You may sit, but do not move from that spot.”
He must be confident that I’ll obey him because he immediately turns his back on me to move toward Thoren.
I rise as quickly as I can into a half-kneeling, half-crouching position, ready in case I need to move fast.
In that position, I can finally swivel my head to see my brother.
His face is tear-streaked, but it’s the emptiness in his eyes when he looks back at me that worries me the most.
Our father’s monolith is only five paces away from us and Thoren’s focus shifts to it. And then to Asha where she sleeps on the sled.
A muscle clenches in his jaw before he returns his focus to our father, remaining on him while Malak removes the prongs but leaves Thoren with the same claws across his chest.
They’re tangled in Thoren’s coat, the edges of which are pushed aside enough for me to see the same pool of blood across his shoulder, which means a thread must run through his chest too.
It will kill him in an instant if Malak wills it.
Malak’s voice is calm as he speaks with Thoren. “I assume you will also refuse to tell me your name.”
Beyond the flicker of his gray eyes to Malak, Thoren barely reacts.
“You are silent, Boy. But no less dangerous than your brother. Like the steel at the end of a quiet arrow.” Malak cocks his head to the side. “You are ‘Vandasteel’.”
It’s a strong name, but it feels like a mockery to me. Malak has given us both names that ridicule us in our powerlessness.
Once Thoren is sitting up, Malak turns back to Kalith and they quickly set about gathering up their metal, along with the metal of the slain Blacksmiths.
I watch carefully how Kalith seems able to handle and control Abdiel’s and Deron’s metal, using it to fashion a narrow cart that will fit between the trees. But he avoids touching Malak’s dropped spear.
That could simply be because Malak is present, but the way Kalith actively gives Malak’s metal a wide berth where it rests on the ground indicates he’s reluctant to be anywhere near it.
The more I see the Blacksmiths use their metal, the clearer their power becomes. Every time one of them transforms it, he keeps his right hand in contact with the metal somehow—from using a continuous chain to a metal thread.
It seems their power streams from their right hands. Once they let go of their metal, like leaving the wolves chained to the trees or creating the cage around Skirra, the metal remains in that form.
It doesn’t change unless they’re touching it again.
As far as the cart goes, there are no horses or mules to pull it, so I’m not sure how it’s going to travel down the mountain. Even on a downward slope, the snow could bog it down.
Meanwhile, Malak transforms his black spear back into a band that he wraps around his left forearm.
Then he bends to me again. “You will retrieve the bodies and put them on the cart,” he says. “Likewise for the wolves in the cages. Your brother will stay where he is while you do this. This will be your first test.”
Deron’s body is inside the cabin, which will force me to leave Thoren outside on his own.
I grit my teeth, rising slowly to my feet before I back away from Malak and then I move fast toward the cabin, finding that I’m able to run since my legs are free of metal now and the claws across my chest don’t hinder my arms.
Carrying a full-grown, adult male won’t be an easy task, but I’ve built up enough muscle dragging large beasts to manage pulling Deron along the loft, down the stairs, across the room, and out into the snow.
At the door, I take a glance at the weapons on the wall inside it. But separating me from my brother was smart—it’s what I would have done. To try to hide a weapon on my person would only put him in harm’s way.
Even if I use my deep light, the chance of Malak making contact with the claws on Thoren’s chest and killing him in an instant is too high.
I have to reserve my light for the moment when I have my best chance of keeping Thoren alive.
Dragging Deron as fast as I can, I hurry back to the cart to find that Thoren hasn’t moved. He doesn’t raise his head, but Skirra whines to me. I squash my anger, hating to see the wolves caged like this.
