By the fourth night, Seba was less worried about being attacked by jungle creatures and more worried about sustenance. She’d believed Keriya was going to Noryk, and was already running low on provisions. The scent of the rabbit roasting on Nameless’s fire made her mouth water.
Max was tending to the meat. He spoke to Keriya and she inched nearer to him, their shoulders nearly touching.
“Keep away from him, you little nit,” Seba growled. She clutched the hilt of her knife, though she knew there was no threat to Max’s life yet. They were nowhere near the dry, desolate mountains Seba had seen in her vision, nor did Keriya have a sword. Strangely, she didn’t seem to have a dragon, either. Where was Thorion?
Too many questions and no answers. Seba glowered at Keriya, hating the pale girl more and more the longer she watched.
She should have been paying attention to her surroundings, rather than paying attention to the way Max’s hand rested on Keriya’s arm. She should have been listening to the sounds of the night, rather than trying to overhear their conversation. But she ignored it when everything went silent and she missed the faint, sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh, so she didn’t notice there was something behind her until it was too late.
Seba turned at the sound of a low hiss. She was met with a horrifying vision of death.
“Flesh-rats trespassing in my forest,” it breathed in a slow, rattling voice. “Thieving little monsters. You’ll be sorry. All of you.”
The bogspectre. This was Seba’s worst nightmare come to life. Every Galantrian child was warned about the fiend and was taught what to do in this situation. Call for help; run fast and run far; don’t look into its eyes.
Don’t look into its eyes!
Seba made to squeeze her eyes shut and open her mouth to scream for Max. Better to be caught and returned to the palace than to fall prey to the bogspectre.
But it was already too late. She was paralyzed, caught in some strange, terrible enchantment. The creature floated closer, its body oozing through the air like syrupy liquid. Feverish and desperate, Seba attempted to embrace her source—but darkness had enveloped the inner, ethereal glow of her power. Her magic was out of her reach.
She couldn’t do anything to defend herself as the bogspectre pressed its moist skin against her face, condensing itself into a small, seething mass. She lost her vision as it spread over her eyes, blotting out all light.
Then there was pain. Terrible, searing pain. Slowly, ever so slowly, the bogspectre was forcing its way into her skull. Cold, wriggling tendrils of sludge snaked into her eye sockets with a horrible squelching sound. She would have been screaming if she’d had use of her voice, but she was trapped, a prisoner in her own body. Her brain wanted her to cry and fight, but she was immobile. The pain sharpened to an unbearable point.
It vanished as quickly as it had come. Seba opened her eyes and twisted her head, examining her surroundings. She ran her hands along the length of her arms and through her hair.
Who was she? Why was she here? Where was here?
Voices floated up from the campsite, and the bogspectre remembered.
It turned in its new body, narrowing its eyes. Yes. Flesh-rats. They reeked of Necrovar’s magic. Evil mortal scum. They were trespassing. They were here to steal the bogspectre’s treasure for the Shadow Lord, and it couldn’t allow that.
It wondered how best to strike against them. They were bedding down for the night and would be weak while they slept. Defenseless. Yes, perfect.
Three of the flesh-rats fell asleep, but the fourth sat against the trunk of a tree to keep watch. The bogspectre formed a cruel smile with its stolen human lips. It plotted its attack. Thirsted for their blood.
No! Don’t hurt them!
It ignored the other voice in its head—its victims always went quiet eventually. This girl would be no different. No one was able to resist the bogspectre.
Except someone had, not so long ago.
Time ran together in a muddy blur in the bogspectre’s mind. It couldn’t say precisely when, but hadn’t someone fought its influence? Hadn’t someone refused to give in to its parasitic power? Yes. Scales. Claws. Wings. Familiar, yet alien. Glimpses remembered from a different lifetime . . . or had it only been yesterday?
A shiver shook the human, recalling the bogspectre to the task at hand. Punish trespassers. Kill the flesh-rats. It was no longer a dragon. It had a new host, a supple mortal body it would use to protect its treasure.
As it considered how to murder its foes, the human’s hands fell to her waist of their own accord and closed instinctively on the hilt of a throwing knife.
The bogspectre smiled again. Too easy.
Take your hands off that!
“Your hands,” it breathed aloud, correcting the stupid girl who was beating on the walls of her mental prison, trying to break free from the bogspectre’s control. It wouldn’t do her any good. No one had ever escaped the bogspectre.
It stalked through the underbrush toward its new targets. It made no sound as it approached the sleeping bodies. It had spent ages upon ages lurking amidst these trees and it knew the forest inside and out.
The guard would be the first to die. Sneak around behind her, slit her throat, slay the others without them ever knowing it was there. Good plan. Yes.
But the bogspectre, who had never once hesitated before a kill, froze when it caught sight of the guard’s eyes.
Purple. Purple eyes.
It stood motionless in the shadows, staring at the little human child. She sat mumbling to herself, twirling a softly glowing starblossom between her fingers, unaware how close she was to her death.
The bogspectre watched her for a time. Strange things bubbled in the back of its mind . . . perhaps memories, perhaps its imagination. It had seen purple eyes before, hadn’t it? Recently—or perhaps ages ago. They meant something, didn’t they? Yes. Something to do with . . . something. Something important.
Something it couldn’t recall.
Slowly, it released its grip on the hilt of the knife and retreated from the campsite.
Why?
“You want me to kill your friends?” it hissed, scratching at the side of its host’s head with her own fingernails.
But her question haunted the bogspectre. It had never once allowed a trespasser to go free. It was certain those flesh-rats had been sent from Necrovar. It could practically smell dark magic within them. Why, then? Why had it walked away?
“I don’t know,” it murmured aloud.
It settled down behind a flowering fern and sat until the sun rose, studying the purple-eyed girl.
And when she and her pack of humans continued their hike through the jungle, it followed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“He who fights too long against demons becomes one himself.”
~ Cylion Stellarion, Second Age
Roxanne crouched in a rocky grotto, stoking the fire with a branch. It was warm in the little cave, and fortunately, it was quiet. The mental voices of the countless jungle animals were overwhelming. To block them out, she focused on the voices of her human companions instead.
“Keriya, do you have a moment?” It was Max.
“I—I’m busy. Sorry.” Keriya ripped apart the hanging vines that separated the cave from the outside world and darted inside.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” Roxanne asked dryly.
“I just don’t want him to ask about Thorion again.”
“If you need a way to distract him, I’ll let you have the cave to yourselves.”
Keriya’s pallid cheeks turned bright red at the suggestion.
“What?” Roxanne wiggled her eyebrows. “We’re not in Aeria anymore. You can do whatever you want.”
Keriya shook her head, but Roxanne was certain she glimpsed a small smile twitching at those pale lips.
T
hey took turns keeping watch that night, as had become routine. Whether they were on the lookout for Wavewalker’s soldiers, Imperial Guards, or Necrovar himself, Roxanne didn’t know. Maybe all three. They were in trouble with a lot of people, and she hadn’t been able to shake the unnerving feeling that they were being followed.
They continued their route down a rambling game trail the next morning. It was unclear whether Keriya was trying to find Thorion, or if she was stringing Max and Effrax along on a wild goose chase.
Roxanne enjoyed the trek through the wilderness, despite the faint, phantom itch between her shoulders that made her feel like prey before a predator struck. She preferred the freedom of the outdoors to being cooped up in the Galantrian Palace.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they broke for lunch beside a glittering stream. While the others removed their packs and cloaks to relax, Roxanne paced the perimeter of the camp, inspecting her surroundings. The stream trickled in its shallow bed, curling lazily past smooth stones. Verdant ferns crouched on the mossy banks, whispering in the breeze. It was peaceful and quiet.
Too quiet.
She studied the stream again. There were no fish, no insects. There was no life in the trees, either—no birds, nor any of the blue-winged butterflies that usually danced in the leaves. A chill trickled down her spine. The animals were avoiding this part of the jungle.
“I think we should keep moving,” she announced.
“We’ve only just stopped,” said Max.
“We can rest, but not here. I don’t think it’s safe.”
“The Tigress has a point,” Effrax chimed in unexpectedly. “We’re on the run, after all. It wouldn’t do to have our enemies catch us.”
So they kept moving, hiking into mountainous terrain. Everything seemed more ominous here—karst rocks jutted like grasping fingers, sharp and wicked. Trees grew in stunted, tortured shapes.
A far-off scream reached Roxanne and she froze in her tracks. It was the dying cry of an animal, the first mindvoice she’d heard all day. The mental picture was glaringly vivid, a warning to all those who could hear: a herd of soulless abominations stalked the woods, heralds of destruction and death.
Roxanne whirled to face her companions. “We’re in danger. Something’s coming from the south.”
“How do you know that?” said Max.
“Trust me,” she growled, clenching her fists and reaching for her magic.
Max seemed frustrated, but Effrax drew his bow from its quiver and strung it without question. Roxanne edged closer to Keriya, who had no magic with which to defend herself.
For a moment, all was still. Then a group of animals burst into the clearing. She didn’t recognize the three creatures with flat faces and barbed tails, nor could she identify the cat-like thing behind them, but she knew the wolves and the boar. Every one of them was as dark as the night on a moonless eve, and their minds were empty and mute, as silent as a grave— shadowbeasts.
“Is this the best Necrovar can do?” Effrax asked, pulling an arrow taut against his bowstring and igniting its iron tip with flames. “He must be losing his touch.”
With a grating shriek that set Roxanne’s teeth on edge, two obsidian-stained drachvolds burst through the canopy of the trees, showering them with leaves and shattered branches.
“Ah—spoke too soon.” Effrax loosed his arrow at the boar and burned one of the flat-faced creatures to dust before confronting the winged monstrosities.
Roxanne mentally threaded strands of invisible energy from her source into a nearby vine, manipulating it so it strangled one of the wolves. The wolf stumbled and fell. Black froth bubbled at its mouth as it struggled to draw breath. Roxanne held onto her spell until the creature went still. She unclenched her fists, watching as its body crumbled.
That was the first time she’d ever killed anything.
Sickness flooded her gut, though she couldn’t say why. It had always been her dream to be a Hunter. She had no problem with violence. The thing had already technically been dead. It was a shadowbeast, for Shivnath’s sake—it had belonged, body and soul, to Necrovar. It had deserved to die. Hadn’t it?
Trying to shake the guilt churning inside her, Roxanne turned her attention to the battle. Max had wielded an air shield to protect them from the shadow-stained acid of the drachvolds. Effrax was fending off the injured boar and the cat. The last flat-faced creature darted around him and made a beeline for Keriya, who was armed with nothing more than a rock and a broken tree branch.
Acting on instinct, Roxanne leapt forward and grabbed the short, blunt horns on either side of its head to stop it. The shadowbeast skidded to a halt, staring at her. She was close enough to see every scar and bump on its leathery skin. It growled, revealing serrated teeth, and she pulled more magic from her source. She prepared a lethal spell . . . and found she couldn’t wield it.
When she gazed into the shadowbeast’s eyes, she saw something beyond its darkened soul. She saw an animal named Grouge. He had once been strong and noble, but death had come too early for him, so he had traded his soul in exchange for a second chance at life. He had no desire to kill, and he certainly didn’t want to be killed, but that was why he was there. He was bait. He was meant to be a sacrifice, a distraction.
Shaking, Roxanne dropped her threads and let go of his horns. “Get out of here,” she whispered over the tumult.
Grouge didn’t move.
“Run!” she screamed, kicking at him. He whimpered and galloped into the trees, ears flat against his skull, barbed tail curled between his legs.
She didn’t have time to think about what she’d done. There were other shadowbeasts to be dealt with, and—
A snakelike cord of black water whipped out from behind a tree and slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Another tendril of shadowy liquid wrapped around Keriya. Two more phantoms emerged from the brush. They were human—or rather, shadowmen.
From what Roxanne had glimpsed in Grouge’s head, she knew this pair was in command of the demons. They’d ordered the shadowbeasts to fight and die, and they were plotting something terrible.
She wielded again, willing the vines on a nearby tree toward the shadowmen. The taller one created a shield of black ice that deflected her spell. Her vines withered when they touched it and crumbled to pieces of waste, like the wolf she had murdered. With a chilling laugh, the man grabbed Keriya, encircling her neck with one powerful arm.
Roxanne sprang to her feet. She sank threads into the ground and found two stone missiles. She wrapped threads of energy around them and dredged them from the soft, mossy turf in the time it took her to draw a breath.
With a feral growl, she launched them at the demons. The smaller shadowman disintegrated as the first missile struck his chest, but Keriya’s assailant deflected the second sharp rock.
Roxanne faltered, dropping her threads with a gasp. Keriya’s eyes were glowing. A misty purple nimbus surrounded each one. Her lashes scattered striated shadows across her cheeks and brow.
Roxanne had seen this phenomenon when she’d been trapped in Tanthflame’s office. She’d had little time to wonder at it then, and she couldn’t devote any thought to it now, either. The glow had illuminated Keriya’s captor, and though his flesh had turned the color of age-old rot, there was no mistaking him.
It was Doru.
He locked gazes with her and shot her a grim smile. “This is your fault,” he hissed, sweeping his free hand across his deathly dark face. “You left me to die in the Galantrian Village, but the Shadow Lord rewards his loyal servants.”
She would have struck against him, except that she’d seen Doru’s plan in Grouge’s thoughts. He had a vial of darksalm. He was planning to infect Keriya. One wrong move on Roxanne’s part and she might doom the girl to a fate worse than death. She would have to use all the skill and finesse she possessed.
Before Roxann
e could do anything, Doru screamed and dropped Keriya. He staggered sideways as another figure, a human female, emerged from the jungle behind him. She had grabbed his head in both her hands, latching onto him with the tenacity of a serpent constricting its prey.
Doru’s shrieks filled the air as he struggled to break free. His desperate thrashing wrenched the woman around with him, and the cowl of her cloak fell back from her face. A rabid snarl dripped from her mouth and her eyes were dark with fury.
Roxanne was too stunned to move or to offer help. Their mysterious savior was . . . Princess Sebaris?
With a mighty tug, Doru wrenched himself from Sebaris’s clutches. His black skin was melting from his skull in thin strands where she’d touched him. He dematerialized, fading into darkness, though the echo of his tortured yells lingered.
Sebaris whirled to face Roxanne. Her eyes weren’t dark with fury—they had changed color. Where before they had glittered like sapphires, now they were black like a shadowbeast’s hide.
“There are more demons,” Sebaris cried, turning tail and charging into the trees. “They are close, you’ve led them too close! If they find my treasure, Necrovar will win!”
While Roxanne was paralyzed, caught halfway between horror and bewilderment, Effrax followed the Galantrian girl without hesitation.
“Stay here,” he told Roxanne as he passed her, his bow at the ready.
“What—”
“Shadowbeasts aren’t the only demons in this forest, Tigress,” he warned. “Stay.”
He vanished into the jungle. Roxanne shook herself, trying to shed the haze of confusion clouding her thoughts. The battle had ended while she’d been distracted with Doru. Max was kneeling by Keriya’s side, pulling her into a sitting position.
“Are you alright?” he asked her. “Did necromagic touch you?”
“Obviously,” said Roxanne. She was embarrassed to hear her voice was an octave higher than usual. “It was Doru. He got turned into a shadowman. He was trying to infect Keriya with darksalm, but . . .”
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