Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  Samrael leads the way, so. I follow him.

  A demon.

  CHAPTER 29

  DARYN

  We race through the trees at a breakneck pace. A dangerous pace.

  Any stumble or unseen branch could be deadly. But the Harrows are deadly without question, so we ride like our lives depend on it.

  My gray gelding is slower than Shadow and the other horses. I lose my spot near the front and fall to the back. Samrael, also on an ordinary horse, drops to the rear of the group with me.

  Up ahead, Gideon sees me and tries to slow Riot. The others notice too—Jode, Marcus, Bas—all of them drawing back.

  “No! Go! Keep going!” I yell, but it’s useless.

  In moments, it’s undeniable: No matter how fast we ride, we won’t be fast enough. The Harrows are closing in. Almost as though they knew exactly the direction we’d take.

  When their smoky reek reaches me, I know we have minutes, maybe seconds, before we see them bounding toward us, all sharp claws and depthless eyes.

  “We’re too many! Too visible!” Samrael calls forward.

  It’s true. In the darkness, Lucent and Riot are impossible to conceal, and Ruin’s bronze coat is hardly better. They’re homing beacons.

  My earlier idea resurfaces. I make a snap decision. “Stop! Stop!”

  They all react instantly.

  Horses squeal and twist as they come to a halt, and shouts of surprise erupt around me.

  Taking advantage of the commotion, I slip my knife from the side pocket of my backpack and hide it under my shirt.

  “We can’t run. They’re all around us,” I say.

  “We can’t fight, either,” Samrael says.

  “Coward,” Gideon lashes at him. “We’re not lying down. We fight.”

  “You’re hearing the scouts. There are scores more behind them.”

  As they argue, I maneuver my horse closer to Samrael’s. Then I slip my feet out of the stirrups and count to three.

  With a burst of strength, I pull my feet onto the saddle’s seat and push off, leaping onto Samrael’s horse. I land behind him and hook my arm around his neck.

  Startled, his horse springs forward. I’m jolted back but I hold on, prepared for it. Then I lay the knife blade under his chin. “Don’t move.”

  “I’m only steadying the horse,” he says.

  “Daryn, what are you doing?” Gideon asks.

  My hand holding the knife is shaking. I’m sure Samrael can tell. “I’m opening the portal.” I reach behind me with my free hand, into my backpack. “You guys need to go. You have to get out. I’m the only one who has to stay. Bas, I’ll stay to see if what you said is true.”

  I don’t know why I don’t say what I mean specifically. I’ll stay to see if Samrael is worthy enough to be let out of here.

  The words just don’t come out.

  “How does that help?” Jode sounds desperate. Our situation is desperate. “You’ll still be in danger.”

  Samrael is the one who answers. “One horse will be less visible than a cavalcade. I can hide one horse. We can evade them.”

  “Two.” Gideon withdraws his sword with a hiss of metal. “I’m staying, too. Marcus, Jode—get Bas out of here. Go.”

  This isn’t what I want, but I know I won’t change his mind. I don’t even have time to try.

  “If you try to go through the portal,” I warn Samrael, pressing the blade harder against his neck, “you’ll make a killer out of me.”

  I toss the orb into the air before I can think about what I just said.

  Samrael’s back straightens as he sees it hovering there. The quest for the orb was an obsession for the Kindred last fall. It felled every one of its members except Samrael.

  I open the portal, the process familiar now, instinctive.

  The Harrows are so close I can feel the air trembling, the trees shuddering.

  I glance at Sebastian. He watches the portal with reverence, relief already sparking in his eyes. This is his exit. His return home. But then he looks sharply at me. “We can’t leave you here.”

  “Go, Bas. Go home,” Gideon says.

  “You’ll give Samrael a fair chance?”

  Bas asks me this, not Gideon.

  “Yes. I promise I will.”

  “Thank you,” Bas says. Then he turns to Samrael, emotion plain on his face.

  It suddenly feels wrong holding the blade to Samrael’s throat. I withdraw it and slide it against his back.

  “I’ll see you outside,” Bas says. He leads Shadow into the portal.

  As he disappears inside, I gasp, caught up in a rush of feeling. He’s going home—it’s all I’ve wanted to see for months. But Shadow’s going with him, away from me. Her absence steals my strength. It makes all the bones in my body feel pliable.

  “Go, Marcus,” Gideon says. Marcus looks like he’s not going anywhere. “I need you to go.” He looks at Jode. “Both of you. Now.”

  Gideon is asking the world of them. He’s asking for everything. We all know what it feels like to leave a friend in here.

  They turn their horses and enter. Jode and then Marcus. Both quickly swallowed by the tumult and chaos of the portal.

  Gone.

  I close the portal, swiftly re-forming it into the orb. Then I call it back to me, feeling the crackle of fading energy as it settles in my palm. As I slip it back into my pack, I see that the crack is more severe, almost cleaving the orb in two.

  “Can we ride?”

  Samrael’s voice pulls me back. “Yes. Go.”

  Gideon stays with us as the gray builds speed. He keeps Riot nearly glued to our side.

  I hold on tightly to Samrael because I have to, but I shiver at the life I feel through his shirt. He’s warm, muscular, normal—and a demon.

  Dread screams through my mind as branches whip past us. I keep tensing, thinking I see the Harrows. I keep waiting for them to gush through the trees like a ragged black wave. I keep wondering what I’ve just done.

  Why am I here? Has Samrael really changed?

  Looking over, I catch Gideon’s eyes.

  I didn’t want him to stay. That wasn’t part of my plan.

  It should only be me.

  CHAPTER 30

  GIDEON

  We can’t outrun them.

  Can’t hide from them, either.

  Samrael and Daryn could’ve, possibly, but concealment isn’t an option with Riot. I didn’t think this through—just reacted. But no way in hell was I leaving her in here alone.

  I have no other choice. I have to take a stand. Buy time for Daryn to escape.

  With my archenemy.

  “Go, Daryn! Keep going!” Drawing my sword, I turn Riot and prepare for the first wave of attack.

  The creatures descend immediately. Two of them. Frayed and bony. Galloping over dirt on hands and feet.

  The first one leaps, giving me an easy target. I plunge my sword into its gut, withdrawing it quickly. It shrieks and tumbles to the ground. The second hesitates. It’s just enough time for Riot to throw a hoof. I hear a sickening crack and the Harrow goes down. In the next instant, it’s trampled.

  “Gideon!”

  Daryn and Samrael have stopped. “Daryn, go!”

  Why?

  Why did they stop rather than escape?

  The answer is almost impossible to believe. Samrael wields a blade with speed I know all too well. Like Daryn, he’s fighting. To help me.

  I see the Harrow before either of them do—a small one, streaking at them like a bullet. “Daryn—to your left!” I yell. But it jumps and latches onto Daryn, its cloak wrapping around her.

  The horse rears as the Harrow pulls on Daryn. She clings to Samrael, screaming. He twists and buries the blade into the Harrow’s shoulder. It shrieks, tumbles off, and peels into the darkness, dragging something behind it.

  “My backpack!” she yells. “Gideon—the orb!”

  “Go! I’ll get it! Get out of here!” A band of Harrows stalks towar
d me. They come slowly, calculatingly. Not in their usual blind charge. I count a dozen, then stop counting.

  Some have short daggers that flash amber and gold, reflecting Riot’s fire as they stalk forward. But it’s the ones carrying coiled chains around their necks that worry me. Chains are tough for a sword to cut through—even mine. Chain mail worked for a reason. Riot moves in jerky motions, blowing sharp breaths. He’s not happy about them, either.

  Daryn is shouting something as she retreats with Samrael. I can barely hear her above the shaking trees and the howling.

  Then she’s out of sight, swallowed by the shadows of the woods.

  I can’t leave the orb, and running wouldn’t work, anyway. These creatures are faster than Riot.

  I look around me. No backpack in sight and I’m outnumbered ten times over, but the soldier in me resists panic. The best I can do is slow them down to give Daryn a better chance at escaping. I search for the most immediate threat.

  It’s all of them.

  They come in a swarm—suddenly and together. Throwing chains through the air that arc above me like metal flares.

  They hit us everywhere.

  Riot roars.

  My sword is hooked at the crossbar. My hands, at the wrist. My horse, around the neck. Then a chain falls over my neck, grazing my shoulders for a second before it’s pulled tight.

  Pain explodes in my windpipe.

  Riot’s front legs swipe out sharply, and we go down like a falling tree. Tipping in an instant that lasts forever.

  He falls on my leg—his full weight. My bones snap like twigs. Femur, shinbone, foot. My vision whites out and pain becomes everything.

  Riot blazes, lighting up like a bonfire. I’m stuck beneath him, but I can see that his hooves have been chained and that he’s being pulled at unnatural angles.

  “Don’t touch my horse! I’ll kill you!” The chain around my neck is constricting my throat. My voice sounds like an engine that won’t turn over. My threats go nowhere.

  As the Harrows close around us, Riot writhes and struggles, every movement grinding my leg bones to gravel.

  I feel myself passing out, sounds receding. Vision tunneling.

  A decaying stench floods my nostrils like an airborne poison as one of the Harrows leans over me. It has a pale white scar across one wrinkled cheek.

  If it had eyes, it’d be staring at me.

  And if I still had the power to speak, I’d tell it that when I get my revenge, I’ll start with it first.

  CHAPTER 31

  DARYN

  The gray mare’s coat is lathered in sweat when Samrael stops her.

  Samrael, too, is damp with sweat. Beneath my hands, his shirt is hot and stuck to his skin. He’s breathing fast from exertion.

  But I’m not sure I’m breathing at all.

  I’m not even sure if my heart’s still beating. I don’t feel anything except a sharp stinging in my throat, like I drank acid.

  We rode a long time, I think.

  What just happened?

  Samrael turns slightly. The dawn light traces his profile with a thin line. Long straight nose. High brow. Cheeks and jaw like a rock quarry.

  “This will likely be no comfort,” he says, quietly, “but we would only have gotten killed if we’d stayed any longer. There was nothing to be done. And he’s a strong fighter. I know from experience. I’m certain he was able to escape.”

  I scramble off the horse, seized by the need to get away from him.

  I take three steps before my legs give out and I sink to my knees. Sink into the terrible feeling that’s curling into every particle in my body.

  Regret. Regret at a subatomic level.

  Never—not even when I ran away from home, or when I lost Bas to the Rift—never have I felt this internal alarm blaring at me, telling me I’ve done something that needs to be undone now.

  Gideon is back there.

  Gideon.

  I pull myself up. “We—” My voice has left me. I swallow and try again. “We have to go back. We have to help him.”

  Samrael dismounts. He walks to me. His brow is furrowed with annoyance or concern. I don’t know him well enough to know which. Holding his gaze feels like locking eyes with a cobra. “I don’t want to crush your hopes—”

  “Then don’t. Actually, you can’t. Even if you try.”

  “I was going to say, at the risk of discouraging you, now isn’t the time to go back. We’re not in a position to help him. The Harrows have numbers on their side. We will help. But we need to think logically about this. We need to strategize. If we go to Gray Fort—”

  “Gideon is back there and he needs us now.” How do I know? How am I so sure? I wasn’t this sure when I lost Bas. I was too scared. Too terrified of trusting myself. Without the Sight, I felt unguided. I feel guided now. Trust, even when it’s hardest. Especially when it’s hardest. “We need to go back.”

  Samrael looks toward the mare. The set of his jaw is hard, decided, but I’m not backing down. “Sebastian said you helped him. He told us you saved his life and that you’ve changed your ways. If you have, you’ll go back for Gideon. He was fighting to save our lives. He stayed back there so that we could get away.”

  “He stayed for your life, not mine.”

  “You’re still here because of him.” My gaze drops to his forearm. Through the rips in his sleeve, I see the gash the Harrow left, so like the cuts on my back when they were fresh. Blood drips off his hand, disappearing into the dirt. Every drop marks the time we’re wasting. I try a new approach. “The orb was taken. The Harrow that attacked us took it.”

  A glint comes to his gem-hard eyes. Genuine interest. “It was in the pack?”

  “Yes. Without it, neither one of us will get out of here.” For a sickening moment, I wonder if Samrael wants this—exactly this. For me to be stuck here in the Rift with him forever.

  “Fine. We’ll go back, but not just yet,” he says. “The Lost—the Harrows—prefer to sleep by day and hunt in the dark. When they’re asleep, it’s the sleep of the dead. If we find them at the right time, we shouldn’t have any trouble taking the backpack and looking for Gideon. We can head back in a couple of hours, to be safe, and search until dusk.”

  He pauses for a moment, waiting, but I’m not going to thank him for doing something that’s so obviously the right thing.

  He returns to the mare, taking her reins. “She needs water. There’s a stream a short walk from here.”

  I think he expects me to come with him. I don’t.

  I listen to the clop of the gray’s hooves receding. Then silence falls around me, making my breathing seem too loud, my anxious paces even louder.

  I’m missing so much.

  Gideon, who’s back there somewhere. On the run? In hiding?

  Captured?

  The orb, which has been stolen.

  Marcus, Jode, Bas, and Shadow, who are no longer here.

  I feel utterly alone. A prisoner of the Rift.

  I spin myself into a panic, buzzing with anxiety. I’m a bell that won’t stop ringing.

  I can’t stand it any longer. Anything is better than stewing in my own thoughts.

  I run down the path Samrael took, slowing down only when I see him through the trees.

  The mare stands in the creek. Water rushes past her knees. Her long neck is lowered as she drinks. Samrael watches her from the bank.

  I debate making myself known, but I don’t want his company. I just don’t want to be alone.

  I slip behind a tree and kneel.

  My mind is on Gideon. It won’t go anywhere else. I wonder if he thinks I’ve abandoned him? No. He knows I wouldn’t. Tears sting my eyes, wanting to spill as I imagine what he must be feeling, but I hold them back.

  Samrael brings the mare out of the creek and tends to her affectionately, brushing her down with a swatch of burlap. He either doesn’t see me, or doesn’t care that I’m here. Returning to the creek, he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the
bank, then crouches to splash water on his face. He runs his fingers through his black hair a few times and rinses the cuts the Harrow gave him on his forearm.

  On his back, I see two ghastly scars. Twin scars, from shoulder blades to the middle of his ribs. Where wings might attach. Where they once did.

  I know he was an angel once. But seeing proof—visible proof—sends a shiver down to my toes.

  “I’m deeply gratified that Sebastian went home,” Samrael says, surprising me. He doesn’t turn to me. He speaks with his eyes downcast. Fixed on the shirt in his hands. “It’s … strange to be here without him. But I’m very glad he went. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do it for you.”

  “Of course not.”

  I can’t look away from the scars on his back. “Why did you give up so much? How could you fall from grace, fall so far, and become this?”

  The questions come out of me before I know it.

  “Become this?” He turns to me at last, his expression equal parts curiosity and challenge. “Do you mean deplorable? Repulsive? Or is it simpler? Do you mean to ask me how I chose to become evil?”

  “Pick one. They all work.”

  “I made a mistake that took me astray for a very long time,” he says, almost dismissively. “And I can see I have a ways to go before you’ll see me.”

  “I’m looking right at you.”

  “You’re looking at what I was.”

  “I don’t care what you were or who you are.”

  “And yet you’re here to judge me,” he says.

  “I’m here for Bas. I’m here to fulfill a promise.”

  “As I recall, the promise was to give me a fair chance. Is this your notion of fairness?”

  My face heats with anger. But I can’t disagree with him. I’m not being fair. I’m being judgmental.

  How do you judge character without being judgmental?

  What have I gotten myself into?

  He sighs. Turns back to look at the shirt in his hands. “Daryn, I apologize. I apologize for my tone. I’ve caused this—all that’s happened. The price is all mine to pay. Every day, I regret the wrongs I’ve committed. I imagine the condemnation of my soul. And yet, I hope…” He pauses, and his shoulders rise as he draws a deep breath. “I hope to one day atone for what I’ve done. I hope for redemption.”