Poisonwell
Page 80
Her caress made him shudder once more.
She clasped his hands between hers again. “I am very young and this place is very frightening. I’m glad you are here with me, Shion. Thank you for facing your fears. It helps me face mine.”
The mask of pain that had ravaged his face was slowly softening. He stared down at her hands and then lifted them to his mouth, pressing a small kiss there. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You saved me from despair. You are the most compassionate soul I have ever met.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve always been a good listener,” she replied. “Which is difficult, because you are not much of a talker.”
A stab of pain burst inside of her, making her double over and wince, her fingers digging into his. Nausea accompanied it and she felt a spasm travel down her spine.
“Phae?” Shion said worriedly, sitting up and putting a hand on her shoulder.
She struggled to breathe through the pain.
“Same as before?” he asked.
She nodded, whistling through her teeth as the shard of agony intensified. Her knuckles were white from her tense grip, but she knew she wasn’t hurting him at all. She rocked back and forth, trying to find a way to breathe again.
Hettie approached. “What is it?” She put the back of her hand on Phae’s brow.
The pain began to subside, bringing relief. Phae wanted to curl up and moan, but she clenched herself and tried to anticipate the blissful calm that was coming.
Annon and Tyrus approached as well. The young Druidecht’s eyes were blazing with alarm. Her father, however, looked knowingly at her.
“What’s wrong?” Hettie asked. “Is there another wound?”
“No,” Tyrus explained. “It’s a twisting in your bowels, a pain like a needle poking inside of you. Each time it happens it gets worse.”
Phae nodded, feeling her brow damp with sweat now. He knew what it was as well.
“It’s the Dryad seed,” Tyrus said. “It is the magic she was born with that allows her to bond with a tree. If it passes outside of you, then we have failed.” His meaty hand gripped her shoulder. “How many days have you felt it now?”
Phae bit her lip. “We need to hurry, Father. We need to find that tree.”
“I’m in shock that the Archives are still unprotected. A handful of Archivists have barricaded the doors against the invasion. Food is running scarce and all is in confusion. We need Bhikhu to guard us, but they are all engaged in fighting the invaders in the streets. What use are the streets if the knowledge protected here is undefended?”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXIV
They left the vibrant grove and entered the skeletal woods once again. Immediately the mood became somber and Phae watched the strain gradually appear on the faces of her comrades. She wiped her face, hardly believing how few of them were left already. So soon, she thought gravely. We’ve lost them so soon.
Where were the sturdy Baylen and his twin swords? Where were Paedrin and his constant jesting? Khiara was murdered. Nizeera fallen. Kiranrao—she was grateful he was gone. She glanced at Annon and Hettie, recognizing that neither of them were the strongest fighters. They had the fireblood, which would be a great defense against some of the beings in the woods. But not against them all. Tyrus, Aransetis, and Shion were her champions. In the end, who would survive?
She flung the dark thoughts from her mind. The pain in her belly had subsided, but she felt it on the fringes of her awareness, ready to strike her again. She brushed hair away from her ear, annoyed by her damp clothes, the itchy feeling in her blistered feet. Mustering her determination, she pressed on.
Very little light managed to penetrate the interlocking boughs. The Scourgelands felt like a cage. Strange clicking noises intruded sporadically. Pungent smells lingered in the air. The woods were dark and foreboding, void of life and crumbling into ruin. It was an ancient forest—probably as old as the world itself. She gazed down at the spindly twigs snapping beneath her boots.
“Do you sense a Dryad tree yet?” Tyrus asked her, his voice low and guarded.
Phae nodded and pointed to the left. “Through those trees. I sense her and she senses me. She has not communicated with me yet.”
“Let’s go closer then.”
Phae nodded, following his lead until he suddenly stopped short, gripping her arm.
Her heart quickened. “What is it?”
The others stopped, turning to look at him. Tyrus’s face was ashen. “I see her again.”
Phae saw nothing, not even the glimpse of a shadow.
She clasped his hands between hers again. “I am very young and this place is very frightening. I’m glad you are here with me, Shion. Thank you for facing your fears. It helps me face mine.”
The mask of pain that had ravaged his face was slowly softening. He stared down at her hands and then lifted them to his mouth, pressing a small kiss there. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You saved me from despair. You are the most compassionate soul I have ever met.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve always been a good listener,” she replied. “Which is difficult, because you are not much of a talker.”
A stab of pain burst inside of her, making her double over and wince, her fingers digging into his. Nausea accompanied it and she felt a spasm travel down her spine.
“Phae?” Shion said worriedly, sitting up and putting a hand on her shoulder.
She struggled to breathe through the pain.
“Same as before?” he asked.
She nodded, whistling through her teeth as the shard of agony intensified. Her knuckles were white from her tense grip, but she knew she wasn’t hurting him at all. She rocked back and forth, trying to find a way to breathe again.
Hettie approached. “What is it?” She put the back of her hand on Phae’s brow.
The pain began to subside, bringing relief. Phae wanted to curl up and moan, but she clenched herself and tried to anticipate the blissful calm that was coming.
Annon and Tyrus approached as well. The young Druidecht’s eyes were blazing with alarm. Her father, however, looked knowingly at her.
“What’s wrong?” Hettie asked. “Is there another wound?”
“No,” Tyrus explained. “It’s a twisting in your bowels, a pain like a needle poking inside of you. Each time it happens it gets worse.”
Phae nodded, feeling her brow damp with sweat now. He knew what it was as well.
“It’s the Dryad seed,” Tyrus said. “It is the magic she was born with that allows her to bond with a tree. If it passes outside of you, then we have failed.” His meaty hand gripped her shoulder. “How many days have you felt it now?”
Phae bit her lip. “We need to hurry, Father. We need to find that tree.”
“I’m in shock that the Archives are still unprotected. A handful of Archivists have barricaded the doors against the invasion. Food is running scarce and all is in confusion. We need Bhikhu to guard us, but they are all engaged in fighting the invaders in the streets. What use are the streets if the knowledge protected here is undefended?”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXIV
They left the vibrant grove and entered the skeletal woods once again. Immediately the mood became somber and Phae watched the strain gradually appear on the faces of her comrades. She wiped her face, hardly believing how few of them were left already. So soon, she thought gravely. We’ve lost them so soon.
Where were the sturdy Baylen and his twin swords? Where were Paedrin and his constant jesting? Khiara was murdered. Nizeera fallen. Kiranrao—she was grateful he was gone. She glanced at Annon and Hettie, recognizing that neither of them were the strongest fighters. They had the fireblood, which would be a great defense against some of the beings in the woods. But not against them all. Tyrus, Aransetis, and Shion were her champions. In the end, who would survive?
She flung the dark thoughts from her mind. The pain in her belly had subsided, but she felt it on the fringes of her awareness, ready to strike her again. She brushed hair away from her ear, annoyed by her damp clothes, the itchy feeling in her blistered feet. Mustering her determination, she pressed on.
Very little light managed to penetrate the interlocking boughs. The Scourgelands felt like a cage. Strange clicking noises intruded sporadically. Pungent smells lingered in the air. The woods were dark and foreboding, void of life and crumbling into ruin. It was an ancient forest—probably as old as the world itself. She gazed down at the spindly twigs snapping beneath her boots.
“Do you sense a Dryad tree yet?” Tyrus asked her, his voice low and guarded.
Phae nodded and pointed to the left. “Through those trees. I sense her and she senses me. She has not communicated with me yet.”
“Let’s go closer then.”
Phae nodded, following his lead until he suddenly stopped short, gripping her arm.
Her heart quickened. “What is it?”
The others stopped, turning to look at him. Tyrus’s face was ashen. “I see her again.”
Phae saw nothing, not even the glimpse of a shadow.
