Dryad-Born
Page 89
She looked at him, seeing the vivid scars on his face. His eyes were blue—a dead man’s eyes. Fear exploded from the marrow of her bones. She had to get away from him. She had to run, to escape. Desperately she tried to rip her arm free, bucking and twisting. She wrenched with enough force that his boots slipped in the muck on the bank and they both tumbled into the brackish waters.
The smell and taste of the waters was loathsome and thick with slime. Phae gagged and thrashed in the water, her hands plunging into the mud at the bottom, but she felt something hard and round, a large rock. She seized it and shoved herself up out of the foul waters, impulsively bringing it down on the Kishion’s head with her free hand.
He deflected the blow, then hoisted her by the waist and flung her back to the mouth of the ravine. She struck the ground hard. Her hair was plastered to her face. The taste in her mouth was putrid. Sputtering and choking, she scrambled to get to her feet, ready to plunge back into the pond.
She stared down at the rock in her hand. Only it was not a rock. It was a skull.
The Kishion, dripping wet, emerged from the pond, his face contorted with anger. He snatched the skull from her hand, whirled, and hurled it with all his might, sending it arcing across the pond where it struck the midst of the tree with a loud cracking sound.
Instantly the air was a cloud of blue butterflies, revealing a skeletal tree in the midst of the pond. The limbs were cragged and silvery, gaunt as bones. Her mind snapped awake instantly, realizing in shock that they had been led into the lair of some horror.
He grabbed her tunic at the shoulder and hauled her back into the ravine. The swarm of insects caught up with them in moments, a blizzard of blue wings and tickling legs. They both raised the cowls of their cloaks and fought down the path, tromping through the slick, fetid waters as they tried to go back the way they had come. She felt the insects all over her body, wriggling inside her clothes. Phae shrieked and convulsed at the feeling, unable to walk, contorting against the writhing creatures that tickled and pricked against her skin.
The Kishion’s firm hand pulled her after him, half-dragging her through the muck. The farther they went, the less frantic the feelings became. Phae’s breath was ragged and choked with tears. The wave of butterflies crested and then faded, leaving only a few dancing tauntingly in the air nearby. She stared at them, twitching with raw emotions, and nearly summoned the fireblood to destroy them.
Her boot struck a tangled root and she went down. Sprawling in the wet ravine, wet and miserable, she stared up at Shion. His face was no longer an eerie exaggeration that she had seen by the pond. In fact, she barely noticed his scars at all. Instead of dead eyes, they were full of emotion. He knelt next to her in the mud and debris, gripping her shoulder.
She flinched, afraid he was going to strike her. She tried to control her breathing and failed.
“Are you all right?”
Concern was not what she had expected. She shuddered. “It was…awful. I still feel them wriggling…”
He nodded in agreement then he froze. He put his finger to his lips, his eyes looking up the wall of the ravine.
Voices drifted along the air, coming from above. “I know…I heard it too. It was a scream. A girl’s scream. This way. Can you see anything, Finder?”
“The tracks are over here,” came a reply, farther back along the ravine. “The two sets only. One belongs to her.”
Phae’s eyes widened with shock, unable to believe the voice she had just heard. It was a voice she would have recognized anywhere. It was a voice from her past and it brought a surging flood of different emotions.
It was Trasen.
“Even wild beasts feel kindness, nor is there any animal so savage that good treatment will not tame it and win love from it. It is a true principle. And it is even more true when dealing with men. Men can be persuaded to many things through small acts of kindness.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The Kishion’s filthy hand clamped over Phae’s mouth and he pushed her against the ravine wall, pressing himself against her. His mouth brushed against her ear, his voice the smallest of whispers.
“I recognize his voice. The boy from Stonehollow. Do not cry out. The Arch-Rike is using him to find us. Possibly to kill you. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”
A sickening wave of fear and desperation tore through her and nearly made her crumple. What was Trasen doing in Silvandom? She was desperate to see him. The urge to jerk free and scream to her friend was nearly overwhelming. Instead, she nodded and he removed his hand.
“Don’t hurt him, Shion,” she pleaded. “Promise me.”
The smell and taste of the waters was loathsome and thick with slime. Phae gagged and thrashed in the water, her hands plunging into the mud at the bottom, but she felt something hard and round, a large rock. She seized it and shoved herself up out of the foul waters, impulsively bringing it down on the Kishion’s head with her free hand.
He deflected the blow, then hoisted her by the waist and flung her back to the mouth of the ravine. She struck the ground hard. Her hair was plastered to her face. The taste in her mouth was putrid. Sputtering and choking, she scrambled to get to her feet, ready to plunge back into the pond.
She stared down at the rock in her hand. Only it was not a rock. It was a skull.
The Kishion, dripping wet, emerged from the pond, his face contorted with anger. He snatched the skull from her hand, whirled, and hurled it with all his might, sending it arcing across the pond where it struck the midst of the tree with a loud cracking sound.
Instantly the air was a cloud of blue butterflies, revealing a skeletal tree in the midst of the pond. The limbs were cragged and silvery, gaunt as bones. Her mind snapped awake instantly, realizing in shock that they had been led into the lair of some horror.
He grabbed her tunic at the shoulder and hauled her back into the ravine. The swarm of insects caught up with them in moments, a blizzard of blue wings and tickling legs. They both raised the cowls of their cloaks and fought down the path, tromping through the slick, fetid waters as they tried to go back the way they had come. She felt the insects all over her body, wriggling inside her clothes. Phae shrieked and convulsed at the feeling, unable to walk, contorting against the writhing creatures that tickled and pricked against her skin.
The Kishion’s firm hand pulled her after him, half-dragging her through the muck. The farther they went, the less frantic the feelings became. Phae’s breath was ragged and choked with tears. The wave of butterflies crested and then faded, leaving only a few dancing tauntingly in the air nearby. She stared at them, twitching with raw emotions, and nearly summoned the fireblood to destroy them.
Her boot struck a tangled root and she went down. Sprawling in the wet ravine, wet and miserable, she stared up at Shion. His face was no longer an eerie exaggeration that she had seen by the pond. In fact, she barely noticed his scars at all. Instead of dead eyes, they were full of emotion. He knelt next to her in the mud and debris, gripping her shoulder.
She flinched, afraid he was going to strike her. She tried to control her breathing and failed.
“Are you all right?”
Concern was not what she had expected. She shuddered. “It was…awful. I still feel them wriggling…”
He nodded in agreement then he froze. He put his finger to his lips, his eyes looking up the wall of the ravine.
Voices drifted along the air, coming from above. “I know…I heard it too. It was a scream. A girl’s scream. This way. Can you see anything, Finder?”
“The tracks are over here,” came a reply, farther back along the ravine. “The two sets only. One belongs to her.”
Phae’s eyes widened with shock, unable to believe the voice she had just heard. It was a voice she would have recognized anywhere. It was a voice from her past and it brought a surging flood of different emotions.
It was Trasen.
“Even wild beasts feel kindness, nor is there any animal so savage that good treatment will not tame it and win love from it. It is a true principle. And it is even more true when dealing with men. Men can be persuaded to many things through small acts of kindness.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The Kishion’s filthy hand clamped over Phae’s mouth and he pushed her against the ravine wall, pressing himself against her. His mouth brushed against her ear, his voice the smallest of whispers.
“I recognize his voice. The boy from Stonehollow. Do not cry out. The Arch-Rike is using him to find us. Possibly to kill you. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”
A sickening wave of fear and desperation tore through her and nearly made her crumple. What was Trasen doing in Silvandom? She was desperate to see him. The urge to jerk free and scream to her friend was nearly overwhelming. Instead, she nodded and he removed his hand.
“Don’t hurt him, Shion,” she pleaded. “Promise me.”
