23
Beyond the mists is a forest of trees like giants.
“Skyquills,” I breathe, only knowing the name through stories.
Whispered legends about trees tall enough to scrape the sky itself. “Silver skyquills.”
The trunks are thicker than both Raker and me combined. The needles are silvery green in the sun. I stop and look up. I just look, and look, gaping.
“What?” Raker snaps.
I shake my head. “Do you ever feel … utterly insignificant? In … in a good way?” Tears prick my eyes, stupid tears, because we almost just died a half dozen times, but this world … this world with claws and teeth is beautiful. I look over at Raker, only to see him looking at me. His stature says unimpressed.
“No” is all he says, before he turns around again.
Of course not. Harlan Raker, famous warrior, is anything but insignificant.
We made it through the mists. Part of me was sure I would die there, lost forever, like that hidden sword.
But slowly, the cold of the fog falls away, slipping off my skin, melting from my bones as I walk through the forest in quiet awe. Something about this place feels just like the Bone Woods … Ancient. Untouched. Yet instead of piercing, cold dread, all I feel here is steady warmth. It’s not just the sun, which felt absent in the fog. No. The trees are so tall, they cast so much shade, that sunlight is shredded into glimmering ribbons, unraveling through the woods.
It’s something else. A warmth from the nature, maybe. A pulse like a heartbeat.
We keep walking. Raker’s posture never changes. But about an hour later, he stiffens. Turns. I hear it.
The gentle lapping of water. I don’t even wait for him. My feet are snapping against twigs and kicking up dirt as I run toward the sound, and then suddenly, I’m kneeling by a creek. Perfectly clear water. Finally. I could laugh. I could cry. I take it by the handful, drinking from my palms, washing my face. My back is still crusted in blood.
The stream isn’t deep, but it’s enough water to bathe.
I turn toward Raker, who is approaching with far less vigor. He’s covered in blood too. But none of it has reached his skin except for his hands, not with the armor, hood, and mask. I open my mouth. Close it. Decide it’s not worth the trouble of asking.
But he’s already reaching into his pack. I hear something break and nearly collapse in shock as he presents a piece of his soap. Before I can say a single word, he tosses it at me. It lands in my lap.
His soap. The one I like so much. I blink, not able to find the words. Not knowing how he possibly just did something that resembles a kindness.
Before I can attempt to thank him, he says, “You need it.”
Then he turns to leave.
Even his insult can’t breach my happiness. I breathe his soap in, and sigh.
Mine, I think. All mine.
When I can’t hear Raker’s metallic steps through the woods anymore, I begin to take my clothes off piece by piece.
The fabric sticks to my skin, bound by the dried blood. It peels off painfully. Raker’s right. I stink. But with just a few scrubs with his soap, the blood clears. My hair is smooth again. I tie it back into my normal style, letting the braid hang down today, then I wash my clothes, before unfolding them to dry.
As I wait, I lie against the rocks, sighing into the stone, letting the shallow, gentle rush of the water smooth across my body. Across my markings. It’s strange, being out in the open, with all of me showing. But Raker’s far away. These woods are silent.
I need—I just need a moment to rest and remind myself that I am alive.
I survived. No, we survived. The last weeks are a haze, filled with thirst and hunger and pain and blood. So much blood.
I stare at the sky and melt further into the rocks. This world has taken bites of me. I can feel them. It has gnawed at my confidence. It has chewed through all my assumptions. It has punched holes through my fear.
I’ve only been here twenty days, yet I feel transformed. Like years have been folded into moments. Seconds of bravery, of skill, of foolishness that determined my fate.
I feel like those pieces at the forge, scraps of metal that Stellan and I would give a second life—smelt into a completely new sword. I’m not sure what I’ve turned into, but I know that I am not the same.
And some of those new pieces, some of those shards of strength I found in this world … they were forged by Raker. They were forged from flames that rose in response to the taunts, to the figure it out, to the moments he didn’t interfere, forcing me to rise by myself. Forcing me to dig into the trenches of my soul and claw out the embers of my strength.
I curse him. I thank him.
I don’t know how I expected to make it to the gods. But now, for the first time, I feel like I really could.
A flash of movement has me sitting up, breath caught in my throat, water parting around me.
I reach for my blade … and promptly let my grip sag.
I watch a glowing, translucent horse gallop through the forest—then disappear in a curl of mist.
I blink. Just when I’ve convinced myself I imagined it, the horse appears again, several feet in front of where it disappeared, sparkling silver trailing behind it, like a star-swept breeze.
Its hooves gently clop upon the forest floor, before it stills. It turns—and spots me. As its eyes bore into mine, I don’t feel a single ounce of fear.
Maybe I should. Especially as the horse canters in my direction, stopping only at the edge of the stream.
This could be another illusion, I think. Another beautiful thing I’m supposed to fear.
Slowly, I rise from the water. I keep my sword in my grip, just in case. I walk over toward the horse, expecting it to be spooked.
But as I get closer, it simply dips its head. And my silver markings glimmer beneath a stream of sunlight as I reach out to touch it.
It’s cold as ice. Its mane is soft as silk. Its fur is coarse. I smooth my hand between its eyes, and it huffs out of its nose.
Beautiful. Before I can get a closer look, the horse takes off again, making a circle. I watch it go—then still, when it runs right toward me again. This time, it doesn’t stop. Shit. I’m about to leap out of the way when the horse careens off the ground, flying above me, jumping over the stream.
Landing.
Then becoming another curl of mist. It doesn’t appear again.
I didn’t read about those in the book. Both wonder and dread fill me as I consider that there are even more creatures out there, unreported or undiscovered.
Knowing Raker is probably sighing deeply and regretting ever giving me a shard of his soap, I go back to the stream. I twist my clothing, squeezing out any remaining water before putting them back on. I don’t have time to let them sit and dry more. I really should see about getting more clothes, I think, as I step through the forest, looking for Raker. I doubt he went far.
In the direction he headed in, shrubs brush against the base of the Skyquills, their leaves coarse and pointed in various places. A sweetness pierces the air. It’s hard to see anything buried in the thick, knotted green, but I carefully piece through the leaves, until I catch a flash of color. My eyes widen.
Huckleberries. Elderberries. I pick several, my fingertips staining violet, stick one in my mouth, and sigh deeply.
Yes. The fruit on Stormside—so limited and rare—is like ash compared to Starside. Everything here is heightened—the landscapes, the flavors, the colors—as if magic has touched everything.
I sink to my knees, and pick them all, eating a large fraction. The rest I stick into my wet pockets. I consider calling Raker over, to fill his pack with them.
I’m so happy, I hardly notice that a shadow has stolen all the light from the forest. And that the already quiet woods have gone deathly silent.
Until a sticky glop of something hits my shoulder and slides down my freshly washed clothes. I scrunch my nose. Sap?
I look up at the tree.
And stop breathing.
A bear larger than the trees themselves is on its haunches, looking down at me, fang-full mouth parted, drool dripping. Another stream falls directly on me, sliding down my entire body, but still, I don’t move.
Until it throws its head back and roars, rattling the very foundations of the forest, sending me to the ground. Trembling hands clutching dirt, I watch its maw remain open. And from its mouth, a silver, glimmering stream of pure and utter power pierces the sky like a blade.
Magic. It has magic.
I scramble to my feet, and I fucking bolt.
This wasn’t in the book. But if this creature is anything like the bears on Stormside, it’ll have poor vision. It’ll rely on hearing and smell. Its drool will mask my scent, won’t it? And as for its eyesight, it won’t be able to spot me easily through the trees … That’s what I tell myself as I run for my life, heart in my throat, sweat spilling down my skin.
Then I hear those ancient, steady trees snap like they are no more than twigs, and any hope of surviving this beast turns to dust. I look over my shoulder, and the bear is on all fours, bounding through the woods with singular focus, cutting down everything in its path. Long needles erupt from
its back, sharp as spears.
Fuck.
If this bear doesn’t kill me, Raker certainly will. At the very least, he is never letting me use his soap again.
Why does trouble always find me? I was picking berries. Why couldn’t it have happened to Raker instead?
The beast lunges—falling just short of me with such force the woods shudder. I scream as I’m hurled forward. From my knees, I watch as the bear opens its mouth again with a sickening snarl … and I know what that means.
I throw myself to the ground as another beam of silver light shoots out, pulsing with power, slicing through the forest like a scythe, cutting everything around us down. Those great trees fall. They fall and fall, snapping with ear-splitting cracks.
I see a chance for cover, and I run, heart in my throat, as all these glorious trees come down around me.
One crashes at my side, nearly taking me with it. Another blocks my path. I scramble over it and keep going. They keep falling. They’re so large that some fall together, leaning, creating cages, and I run as fast as I can, knowing all it would take is one—one to fall on me and turn me into no more than a pool of blood in these ancient woods.
The bear does not stop. It crushes and splits these fallen trees as it hunts me, as the forest continues to break apart, and I run. I run toward a shard of light beyond the fallen trees, a clearing, a hole in the weave of this forest, and I launch myself through it.
Suddenly, he’s there. Stepping out of the trees and into my path, on the other side of the woods.
Raker seems to sigh with his entire body when he sees me bellowing at the top of my lungs, clothes still wet, trees falling behind me, a massive bear at my heels. Sometime in the half hour I was bathing, he seems to have found time to clean himself, because his hood isn’t covered in dried blood anymore. Neither is his armor.
The ground lurches. I can feel the beast’s breath on my head. The trees I just ducked beneath now shatter into a thousand splinters. Some hit my back, piercing my flesh like throwing stars, and I gasp at the pain, but I keep going, right toward Raker.
He does not turn and run. He stands his ground. Pulls his sword from his back in a flash, as if he is going to cut right through the towering beast.
He doesn’t get the chance.
From nowhere, an arrow the size of my leg slices through the forest—and sinks right into the creature’s heart. It seizes. Gasps.
Then it falls. It falls and slides, dragging up dirt and stumps and roots, coming right toward me, eyes alit with that silver from its breath. I trip and am nearly crushed, before Raker yanks me to the side, out of its way.
“Fucking gods, Aris,” he growls. His sword is still up.
An immortal steps out of the woods.
He’s a man holding the largest crossbow I’ve ever seen. Its wood is pure silver, as if carved from a tree in the Land of the Gods. Just like the metal- tipped arrow currently buried in the bear.
He glances over at us, nods in greeting, then proceeds to climb the beast.
He’s muttering to himself, as if taking notes. He sounds excited. In a flash, he unsheathes a massive, glimmering saw and begins to cut the needles right off the bear’s back.
I look over at Raker in question, but his gaze is still locked on that immortal. His grip is still tight on his sword.
I take a step forward. Another. I have the urge to sink to the floor, or retch, or simply curl into a ball and sob.
But I need to know. “What is that creature?”
The immortal glances down at me from his place high above. He looks me up and down for a mere moment, before grinning.
He has flame-red hair, tan skin, and bright, golden, glittering eyes. He has the body of someone who has done extensive fight training. Perhaps for centuries. He’s handsome. He tilts his head at me, in faint amusement, as if taking in my notice.
Then he turns back to the spines. I think he’ll ignore me, before he says, “This is a steelclaw.”
I glance down at the bear’s claws and my breath hitches. They’re each longer than my sword, glimmering in some ancient material that is decidedly not steel. The immortal seems to track my gaze, because he says, “Not really steel … but stronger than most metals. Melded into swords to make them stronger. Made into weapons itself …” He nods toward his arrow, and I notice its tip is made of the very same matter.
Interesting.
“And the spines?”
“Contain some of the most potent poison ever discovered.”
I raise a brow at him as he unceremoniously collects almost all of them.
“And you’re what? A hunter?”
He flashes a white, perfect smile. “Precisely.” He turns fully toward me.
“Thank you, by the way. For drawing him out. I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time … They’re rare. They hibernate for centuries. Some thought they were all but extinct …”
My back teeth grind together. So, I was no more than bait. I remember what Xara said about hunters. How they’re the reason some ancient creatures are all but extinct. I study this hunter, wondering if he’s one of the ones she was referring to. “Steelclaws have an appetite for humans?”
He tilts his head at me, looking amused again. “No. They’re aethervores.”
At my blank stare, he says, “They eat magic.”
Oh. I think about that glimmering silver beam it emitted. But that doesn’t explain why it was chasing me.
I must look confused, because he motions toward my back. “Your blade.”
“My sword?” He nods, and I shake my head. “It … it doesn’t have magic.”
He frowns. “I’ve never seen a beast chase an object with such singular focus. It most certainly does.” At my insistence, he shrugs. “You’re mortal.
You can’t activate it.”
Both Xara and the book said scales and claws and bones from magical creatures can be melded into weapons, to give them a shred of their magic.
Is that what mine has?
I reach back and trail a finger down its hilt. No wonder so many people are after it.
All at once, I remember the fact that this is an immortal. With a baldric full of weapons. If he wants this one, it won’t take much effort for him to steal it from me. I take a step back. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, he flashes that smile again. “Not to worry, human. I’m more of a bow and arrow man myself. Your sword would go for a pretty penny, I’m sure …” He purses his lips, considering. “But it would also likely cost me my head in the process. And I quite like my head.” He winks at me. “You seem to like it too.” I scoff. He just smiles wider before shrugging. “A blade like that isn’t worth the trouble.”
I look over at Raker. The other person who might steal this blade from me. But he doesn’t spare me a glance.
The immortal looks over at Raker too, then seems to pale. His smile dims. “Especially when you’re guarded by that,” he says simply.
I almost keel over at the thought of Raker being my guardian. Someone who has practically promised a death at his hands.
I want to laugh, but I don’t. Better the immortal thinks Raker would protect me.
And … I suppose he does. When he wants to.
“What else is valuable about the beast?” I ask, looking it over.
“Well, its saliva has healing properties. You must feel them.”
I look down at myself. I feel sticky. Disgusting. But I turn over my hands. The scratches … they’re gone.
That’s when I remember the half dozen daggers of wood sticking out of my back. I gasp, pulling one out and clenching at the pain … before feeling the wound heal completely.
The saliva will dry. Will its magic dry with it? I won’t take the chance.
Jaw tight, I take all of them out, sealing my lips to keep from screaming.
Until they are just blood-tipped shards of wood at my feet.
When I glance back up, the hunter is still cutting off spines. “You’re lucky, you know. Few immortals have survived a creature like that. Let alone humans.”
Lucky he was there with his massive arrow, I think.
I dig into my pockets, until I find an empty vial. I approach the bear, the vestige of fear still prickling across my skin, but I grit my teeth against it and climb up the beast’s paw. Fist my hands in its fur and ascend until I’m high enough to reach its mouth. I wince at those fangs. How close they were to cutting me to pieces. Slowly, I begin to collect the saliva still
pooled below its tongue.
“Who gave you those?” the hunter asks.
“A healer,” I say simply, not wanting to get the immortal in trouble.
Perhaps it’s frowned upon to share with humans. It’s not like she ever told me her name, anyway, and perhaps for this very reason.
But he just hums in approval. “Those are useful. They don’t shatter.
Good quality.”
When I’m done, I climb down and study the rest of the creature. I have little use for poison. Even the fangs in my pockets from those wolves seem almost useless now. They would have done absolutely nothing to slow this
beast.
But … maybe not completely useless.
I turn toward the hunter.
“How did you get here?” I ask. That crossbow is enormous. He wouldn’t have just walked all this way with it on his back … And he must have a way to transport all the spines he’s collecting … His eyes narrow. He lets out a high whistle.
Then another shadow casts across the forest. My bones clench, remembering how the bear towered over me. I take a step back.
And a dragon lands with a forest-trembling force right between us. It stretches out its wings, dappled light filtering through the sheer, forest- green webbing, before the claws tipping them sink into the dirt.
“You have a dragon,” I breathe.
He nods proudly. “This is Invira.”
Invira just huffs. The steam she emits is cold, like what I imagine a winter breeze is like.
I can’t stop the questions spilling out of me. Especially when this immortal seems so content to answer them. “Did you claim her at the Beast Tree?”
He shakes his head. “I freed her from a snare when I was very young.”
He frowns, looking at a jagged scar on her foot. I notice she’s missing a
talon. “Not all hunters follow the same code,” he says sadly.
“And the code is?”
“Don’t kill anything that doesn’t first try to kill you.”
Interesting. It seems like a loose code, one with more than enough room to allow for an innocent creature to be hunted and sold in parts. Not that I can be too upset at the hunter, given he just saved my life.
I have a thousand more questions … but I look up at the trees. Those curls of buttery sunlight filtering through the forest are weakening. It won’t be long before the light is gone completely.
It’s not just shelter from the demons I’m after. No, I want a way to travel quickly, to make up some lost time.
I pull the fangs from my pockets and show them to the hunter.
He raises a brow. “Saberwolf?”
I nod.
“Where did you find one?”
“The mists.”
At that, the hunter looks us over again. Me, then Raker, who I can feel has shifted closer to my side but still hasn’t said a single word.
“You’re here on the quest, aren’t you?” I nod. He frowns down at the fangs. “I suppose you want me to offer you passage?”
I nod again. That’s exactly what I want.
He seems to consider that. “I don’t trust either of you on my dragon,” he finally says. “Not with swords like those.” I frown and am about to open my mouth again when he continues. “But for those fangs … I will procure a creature that will get you out of these woods. Save you three days’
journeying, at least.”
“Safely,” I say.
His lips purse. “Fine. Safely.”
Maybe I shouldn’t trust the immortal … but it doesn’t seem like we have many options. If Raker opposes my plan, he doesn’t say so.
“You have a deal,” I say. I toss the fangs up, and the immortal catches them with breathtaking speed. He hangs them on his baldric. Then he turns back to the spines.
I wait just a few moments before saying, “Well?”
The immortal smiles at my impatience. “It will take a few hours to lure such a creature out.”
A few hours? My eyes slowly rise to the sky. Back to him. I try to keep my voice as steady as possible, even as my hands turn to fists. “We don’t have a few hours. The demons—”
The immortal looks amused. “You’re safe here from them.”
I stare at him, bewildered, and he just laughs. “You’ll see. Night is not a
dark place in these woods.”
“But water—”
“Is not the only element those creatures fear,” he says. I open my mouth, and he gives me a look, as if asking me if I really think I know these beings better than he does.
Fine. He doesn’t make a move to mount his dragon as darkness descends, so I suppose it wouldn’t be in his best interest either to be wrong about a thing like that.
I wait as the hunter continues snapping off the last of the spines. Raker is leaned against a tree, looking unimpressed with the both of us.
The dragon looks over at me. Its eyes are glimmering green, darker than those of the dragon I saw in the Prism Pass. A smattering of spikes adorns its back. Its scales are tough as armor. It looks rock-hewn. Strong. I take a step forward, pulled by a yearning for my own dragon. Do they know each other? Does she know where mine went?
The dragon sniffs at me. I wonder if she can sense my dragon. If any trace of her remains on me.
I reach out my hand to touch her scales, just as she opens her mouth— And unleashes a torrent of water in a stream that hits me right in the chest and has me falling onto my ass. I slide along the ground until I hit Raker’s legs. I sputter, spitting out water, soaked from head to toe.
I look up at the immortal through the water clinging to my eyelashes, and he just shrugs. “She’s sensitive to smell. And you … well, you smelled human, what with the saliva and all.”
My cheeks burn with mortification. It doesn’t fade in the slightest when I look up to see Raker staring down at me, arms crossed over his chest.
I flip him off, and I must be imagining it—but I swear I hear him chuckle.
“Water … instead of fire?” I ask, trembling as I stand.
“Invira is a skyrend,” the hunter says simply. And I imagine there are entire classifications of dragons.
I take a shaking step. Wanting to get away from all of them, maybe go curl up and die of embarrassment.
Without missing a beat, the dragon sits back and beats its wings in my direction, sending me back onto my ass with the force. My braid blows in
the sharp wind, and my eyes water.
She doesn’t stop until I’m mostly dry.
“Thank you, Invira,” I say through my teeth.
When the hunter is done collecting everything of value from the beast, we begin walking through the forest.
His massive bow is tucked to his side, almost as tall as he is. He keeps a single arrow clutched in his other arm.
“Still hoping to catch something else?” I ask.
His smile is pure charm. “There are plenty of things to ensnare in these woods,” he says. I roll my eyes.
I’m holding a frozen apple in my palms that the hunter tossed at me from his pack. It stings just the slightest bit and is smooth like glass. He said it would draw out the creature we’re looking for.
I just hope I’m not being used as bait for a deadly creature again.
As darkness finally settles over the forest like a blanket, and the stars come out, I look up to the sky and stop in my tracks.
This forest is not a dark place at night.
The hunter wasn’t kidding.
Fireflies make an entire constellation through the trees, orbs and galaxies.
I inhale a shaking breath. My eyes burn, watching.
To my surprise, the hunter stops too.
I saw a single firefly once. It flew by my window, and I shook my sister awake. We both pressed our faces against the glass, marveling at it until it disappeared. We stayed up several nights after that, taking turns at our post by the window. But it never returned.
She would never believe this. Never believe there was a wood where thousands would gather.
“This world is a beautiful place,” I say.
He nods. “It is.” He sighs, and the sound is deep. Resonant. “That’s why I like what I do. I get to see the quiet places. The pockets of this world where the beauty has not been disturbed.”
For a moment, the blood, the fangs, the fear, it all falls away. It’s like staring at the night sky, seeing only the stars and not the darkness.
I stare so long that they become nothing more than blurs of light. A part of me, a wall inside, shifts.
I used to hate fire. I used to hate flames.
But I cannot hate this.
There is beauty even in monstrous places. Even in monsters themselves.
One of the fireflies dips low, close enough to touch. I reach up, and the hunter grabs my hand in a flash. His touch is gentle as he sets my arm back down.
“Careful,” he says. “They’re poisonous. Deadly to a human.”
I spin to face him, perplexed, and he just laughs. “Learn this. Some of the most beautiful creatures in this world are the deadliest.”
I look over at Raker, but he’s not looking at the fireflies. He’s not looking
at the stars.
He’s looking at me.
I stare back.
I can’t see his eyes, but I feel his notice, piercing me. Our gazes are like blades between us. Skimming. Dueling.
The hunter keeps talking. “There’s an elk, for example … we call it a florisfang. It has five rows of teeth, but you would never know it. It’s beautiful. It usually has flowers in its antlers, like a crown …”
Raker tilts his head just the slightest bit, a whisper of a motion I wish I couldn’t interpret, but from traveling together this long, I can.
I glare at him in response.
And there it is. That sound again, resembling a chuckle.
“… you wouldn’t believe how long their claws are. They’re retractable.
So, you don’t know until it’s too late, I guess,” the hunter finishes. And I’m not sure if he’s talking about the elk or another animal entirely. “Anyway.
Best to keep moving if you’re going to find that horse.”
“Horse?” I say, whipping around. “I saw one earlier. It … it disappeared into mist.”
He looks impressed. “I should keep you around a little longer,” he says.
“You bring out the best of the forest.”
“And the worst,” Raker says as he brushes by my side. I glare at his back.
The hunter doesn’t seem to hear him, too lost in his own talking. “That’s exactly the creature we’re trying to draw out. A skyhorse. They’re known to
run through these woods. They seem to like the feel of them.”
“Are there many types of horses?” I ask.
He nods. “Just as many as there are dragons. With just as many variations and specialties.” He shakes his head and huffs. “The types of horses I’ve seen … you wouldn’t believe.”
I have the sudden urge to know. To see. To learn. I stamp that ember out, because that’s not why I’m here. This is not my world.
Though, sometimes, the traitorous, selfish part of me wishes it was.
As we continue through the forest, a galaxy of fireflies threading through the trees, a second sky of stars, I think again, This world is beautiful.