Empire of Night

Chapter Eight

Mistwalker

Her brother’s sleepy words caught her at the door. “Inerys?”

Sighing through her nose, she pivoted on a heel. “It’s early, Soren. You should still be in bed.”

He stood behind her at the foot of the stairs, rubbing his droopy eyes with one hand. The boy’s hair was a mess, sticking out at odd angles while laying flat and limp in others. He’d dragged one of his blankets along with him, the train of which draped the last two steps.

“You should be too,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, which wasn’t entirely untrue. Her bloody stitches had itched something fierce. Had it not been for the bindings around them, she would have scratched them open.

He studied her a moment and though his eyes were still bleary, there was something unsettlingly intrusive about them.

“You’re going into the forest again, aren’t you?”

She grimaced.

There was no point in lying to the boy, he’d know regardless.

He always did.

“Only for a little,” she admitted, “But there’s no need to worry. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Soren shuffled on his feet, one hand tightening around his blanket while the other fidgeted at his side. He averted his eyes, looking anywhere but at her for a long moment, as if on the verge of confession. However, none came.

Inerys frowned, brow knit as she drew close and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Is everything all right?” She asked, wondering if he’d had another nightmare.

Or . . . one of his dreams.

The hair along the back of her neck rose.

No, she thought. No, it was just another nightmare. It had to be. If it was the alternative, surely he would have said something.

His eyes found hers and without a word, he wrapped his arms around her middle. The gesture gave her pause, but she was quick to repay the hug with one of her own. He held her, squeezing as though she might dissipate into the mists themselves at any moment. She gently rubbed his back, carefully stooping to his level.

“Would you like me to tuck you in again?” She asked.

His eyes were bright with unshed tears when he pulled back enough to nod and he took the hand she offered him without protest. Blanket dragging behind him, she led him back upstairs on silent feet. She didn’t want to wake Nan. Not only because of the early hour, but her own line of questioning. Neither one of them had seen her arm yet and she wanted to keep it that way. If Nan discovered it, she wouldn’t let her leave either. Not without a fuss.

“There,” she murmured as she tucked the plush blankets in around him once more, “get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He seemed unconvinced, a few tears slipping free.

“I’m going to miss you,” he whispered.

For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

The way he’d said it . . .

She shook her head, briefly ruffling his hair.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

~*~

Minding the narrow game path ahead, Inerys kept a weather eye on the surrounding wood. Today, it was almost too quiet. Since she’d arrived, she hadn’t seen a single tree stir. This far into the forest, they would have been scuttling along the rocky slopes on spindly legs behind her, rearranging themselves as they stirred the habitual fog. One could never trust them, which was why Hounds who hunted the forest knew to mark the crags instead.

In the Wilds, they were the only constant. Whatever magic laid claim to these woods had an affinity for deceiving the mind of the unwary and even she wasn't wholly immune to the effects, regardless of her distant Adai heritage. Her mother had taught her early on that ignoring the forest’s antics was the key to surviving its embrace.

Sighing through her nose, she negotiated the hazardous terrain and tangled roots with a practiced ease. She kept her steps light and her ears open, straining for the smallest of sounds among the uneasy silence. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Alaric she wasn’t here to hunt, but she had still brought her bow and knife. She’d have been a fool otherwise. This wasn’t her first journey into the Wilds, but it could easily be her last, for she knew she wasn’t the only predator stalking the mists. A good hunter recognized this. Preserving her life at the cost of a few torn stitches was a price she was more than willing to pay.

Regardless of heritage, most died within their first or second season. Either due to being underprepared, or overconfident. Sometimes both. Hunting along the Fringe was relatively easy for those wise enough to respect the forest and her boundaries, but few knew where those boundaries were. Venture too deep into the Fringe and the trees could easily muddle the trail. To those with common sense, the dense curtain of fog a few miles in was usually a good indication they’d gone too far. However, it was then the forest’s tricks were at their most dangerous. It was easy to chase down a shadow mistaking it for prey, only to lose one’s way and end up a meal to something more cunning or fall into some hidden ravine. There was a certain aura to the air she was convinced the purebloods couldn’t sense.

Hounds, like herself, knew to take the deeper trails slowly and always keep their wits about them until they were well and truly beyond the forest’s edge. Some even carried talismans gifted by the Sorcerer's themselves, but such items were rare and seldom given freely, contract or no. As much as Inerys admired the Guild, she never fully trusted those beneath its banner. Her contract with them allowed her to scrounge out a decent living and without them, she’d likely have to resort to less desirable trades, but they always made her skin crawl and her arcane intuition itch.

At the top of a hill, she paused, glanced back over her shoulder. Light filtered in through the canopy where it could, illuminating the thick vegetation in uneven patches. Behind her, the day had well and truly begun. Ahead, the world plunged into eternal night. A perpetual fog crept between the trees, so thick in places, Inerys could no longer see her feet, let alone the path she walked. It was through her sense alone that she found her way, marking the game trail in a manner she didn’t wholly understand. She simply knew where to step and where not to. Still, her sense had never led her astray and she wouldn’t question it now.

Instead, she focused on the task at hand.

Though this route was still fairly new to her, she found her way with relative ease. A week prior, she’d discovered a healthy creek bisecting a fresh game trail. From what she could tell, it was yet untouched by any of her associates and she wanted to take the time to survey it properly before she plundered its forbidden treasures. She hadn’t lingered long, but she was certain she’d spied firelilies among the rocks along the riverbank. She was no expert, but she knew enough to mark them as manifestations of Primal Essence and thus, invaluable to the Guild. If she returned with a live specimen, there was no telling how much they’d pay her.

Perhaps enough to comfortably afford a few more of their books after she padded out their winter stores.

Eccentric though they may be, the Sorcerers possessed a wealth of knowledge few had the opportunity to grasp. Inerys had learned much from the old books her great grandmother had passed down through the family, but a part of her had always craved more, much like Soren. Evidently, such curiosity ran in the family.

Prior to Fain’s gifts, she had only been able to acquire a single copy from the Guild’s core materials: the Initiate’s Guide to Primal Essence and Identification, and already, it had proved invaluable to both her pocket and her practical knowledge. She had no intention of joining the Guild itself as a student, but practicing on her own was a worthwhile endeavor she was eager to explore. If she could hone her sense or develop her connection to one of the essences, perhaps she might learn to survive the heart of the Wilds themselves. There was no telling what secrets the forest possessed or what she might discover. If there was truly a world beyond the Wilds, perhaps she could take Soren there someday.

She tried not to allow such thoughts to distract her as she neared the creek in question. It undoubtedly served as a main water source for the Wild’s inhabitants and she didn’t want to accidentally stumble across one due to her own inattention. Her mother would have scolded her for harboring such fantasies in the first place. Once she returned the precious flower to the Guild unharmed and well paid, then she would celebrate and not a moment before.

Perching herself among a small collection of crags, she took a moment to survey her surroundings. To listen. Despite seeing nothing, her sense warned her she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t being watched, she knew, but something had drawn close. Inerys steeled herself and slowly drew her knife on instinct. With luck, she could remain still and wait out whatever it was, but if worse came to worst, she would defend herself.

The forest around her grew quiet. Too quiet, as if all the birds and bugs had been struck dead at once. The creek itself seemed muted, somehow, and a shiver seeded at the base of her spine. Her skin prickled, sense telling her to move, but she held herself still. She was fairly certain the forest wasn’t responsible for the sudden shift, for it waited with baited breath alongside her.

As the minutes crawled by, her sense grew increasingly apprehensive. Her instincts urged her to run, to flee and not look back. The primal part of her mind practically begged her and for a moment, she almost bent to the will of her flight instinct. However, the more rational, experienced half, knew doing so would spell her undoing. Panic would set the stage and fear would get her killed. So, she remained rooted in place, still as the stone around her.

Something shifted in the mist ahead and Inerys sucked in a breath.

At first, she thought it was a deer.

She cursed her wounded arm, mourning the opportunity until-

The creature was no deer or buck, but a woman.

At least, that was what Inerys thought she was.

Her brow furrowed, mind struggling to fully comprehend the sight.

In truth, the stranger was more spirit than woman. Her long ears protruded far beyond the bounds of her skull and came to fine points beneath what Inerys realized were stag’s horns. Ratty cords of black hair hung from the dusky tines, wet and limp. Not from rain, but blood. It stained her clothes, her skin . . . her teeth.

Inerys shrunk back, barely stifling her gasp.

The woman stumbled out from the undergrowth and toward the creek, sniffling and muttering. Her skin was so pale, Inerys wondered if she had been born of the mists themselves. She cradled her left arm, her breaths ragged and it wasn’t until she fell to her knees beside the spring, that Inerys noticed the long shaft sunk into the back of her shoulder.

She wavered, on the verge of pitching forward and collapsing entirely, but somehow managed to hold herself steady after legs gave out. The woman knelt, trembling, among the reeds, her uneven breaths filling the silence of the world around them. Inerys didn’t dare move. Were this woman anyone else, she would have revealed herself and offered to take her back to the nearest city-state. However, her intuition warned her this woman was dangerous. She would leave this mysterious stranger to her fate. Either to die or continue on her way, Inerys didn’t care.

Carefully, she began to climb down the back of her stone perch. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the stranger, sure to maintain line of sight. When she shifted her weight back to lower herself down the back of the crag, pain launched through her arm and down her wrist. There was a sharp tug and she felt a few of her stitches ripped free. She cursed, softly. Warmth quickly began to spread through her bindings and she grimaced. Alaric was going to give her an earful.

She paused, realizing her mistake.

Too late.

She heard the stranger suck in a shuddering breath. Panicked, Inerys glanced across the spring. The woman stiffened and her eyes snapped up, fixated on the huntress’ position. Inerys’ blood ran cold and a wave of nausea passed over her. For a heartbeat, something rang in her ears, a low, tickling frequency. Then, her muscles went taught and suddenly, her body was no longer her’s to control.

The woman barked something in a strange tongue Inerys couldn’t place, but one her body obeyed without question.

While the tone itself was feminine, it was warped and sharp. The command was absolute and Inerys found herself climbing down the stone and rounding it in direct view of the injured woman. Internally, she screamed, thrashing against her own body while outwardly, it remained utterly still. It was like being held prisoner in a nightmare, unable to wake up.

She issued another command in that strange language.

Again, Inerys’ body obeyed.

The woman rose on shaky knees, still holding her wounded arm. Her amber eyes blazed like twin embers in the night, fixing Inerys with a glare so ripe with hunger, she thought she were facing down some ancient god. The woman’s face, though beautiful, was utterly feral. Blood painted skin and cloth alike and Inerys could have sworn she saw some dripping freshly from her clawed hands. Whether it was her own or not, she couldn’t tell.

With another command, Inery’s boots planted themselves a few feet away from the woman. A low, inhuman growl rose from the woman’s throat, reminding the huntress of some mountain cat. She shuddered, barely in control of her own lungs. If she could have plunged her dagger into her own heart, she would have. Anything to escape the clutches of this otherworldly horror. But she couldn’t. Her arms refused to move.

She’d become a prisoner in her own body.

The woman eyed her with something akin to disgust, as if Inerys were some half starved rabbit that had been presented to her in place of a king’s feast. Then, the sentiment was overwhelmed by a familiar, unfathomable hunger. The woman had her fangs buried in Inerys’ flesh before she had fully registered the fact the woman had moved. She was held steady by the woman’s iron grip, claws burrowed deep into the muscle of her upper arm. She was sure her bones would break sand her spine would snap under the sheer force borne down upon her.

Fire shot through her veins and through the compulsion, Inerys screamed.

~*~

Rhydian readied another arrow as he sprinted through the forest. Though his heart ached and his Soul raged, he could not dwell on what he’d left behind. Not when he was so close. With one more shot, he could end this. Would end this.

And then, he would seek answers.

He skidded to a halt when a woman’s scream pierced the silence of the wood. He glanced about, confused, for the sound had come from ahead, not behind. Was it the woman? Or, as impossible as it might be, was someone else out in the Wilds? His gut told him it was the latter. How, he wasn’t sure, and he hadn’t the time to speculate.

Priming his physical core, he moved. His reinforced body propelled him forward, despite the burden placed upon his Soul, launching him with such force, a small crater was left in his wake. This deep into the Veil, his awareness was almost non-existent, yet he retained just enough to sense his target up ahead. He vaulted over a collection of gnarled roots and dove through a hollow in the tangled branches beyond. He hurled himself onto a low hanging branch thirty feet from the ground.

Ahead, a wide creek bed cut the clearing below in two. The woman stood upon the bank, her back to him, with a smaller, cloaked figure caught in her grasp. She had her face buried in the crook of the young woman’s shoulder, though he couldn’t quite tell what it was she was doing. Her captive was beginning to writhe, eyes rolling back into her skull.

Without hesitation, he sighted his target and let his second arrow fly.

This time, it found its mark.

The force knocked the woman forward and she dropped her prey. She stumbled a few feet, turning to face Rhydian with wide eyes. Her good arm trembled, fingers stained red with her own heart's blood as she held it in front of her face. Half of the fullsilver arrowhead protruded from the space between her breasts, skewering her through from behind. He watched the blood bubble up from her throat, spilling over pale skin. The dark stain spread across her chest and, at last, she collapsed.

Rhydian remained atop his vantage for a long moment, a third arrow poised and ready, should she stand again. Her body strained, fighting the final throws of death. Then, lay still.

The world tilted.

He lost a shuddering breath that bordered on a wheeze.

However, his relief was short-lived.

Her victim gave a choking cry from where she’d fallen into the creek. She floundered, attempting to crawl toward the bank, but her limbs didn’t appear to work properly. Blood clouded the water around her, carrying with the stream. Cursing, Rhydian leapt down and rushed for her side. His panic threatened to rise, but he shoved it down. A dozen questions rose anew in his mind. Who was she? What was she doing here?

For the present, he decided none of that mattered.

Carefully pulling her from the water, he sat and drew her into his lap to inspect her wound. Blue eyes found his, wide with pain, but it was fleeting. Her body fell limp, eyes rolling back. For a moment, he only saw Keishara, but . . . she was gone. But this woman, beaten and bloody as she was, was still alive.

He pulled back her cloak, finding a deep wound where her neck met her shoulder. Blood pulsed free with each passing heartbeat. Without Tanuzet and her saddle bags, he had nothing on hand to treat her. He could tear her cloak into strips, bind the wound, but the angle and location of it made it difficult to maintain pressure. A thought occurred to him and he grimaced. He looked to his hand, making a painful, but necessary decision.

Biting the fingers of his gloves, he slid his hand free of the supple leather. He was not yet skilled enough to guide his flame along such a small, precise path, but he could still cauterize the wound well enough. Muttering an apology, he pressed his palm to her bite and rallied what rysk he had left.