He doesn’t need to tell me. I know it is dangerous to leave his line of sight. I also know I could wait. Luisa will likely return on her own at any moment. But the truth is that I am curious. Sonia’s fears over Luisa’s loyalty echo in my heart, however much I wish to discount them. Luisa’s behavior of late has made me uneasy, and though I do not like to think of myself as spying, I feel a sense of responsibility to consider every possible scenario.
Even one in which Luisa is used by the Souls to sabotage our mission.
It grows darker as I leave the campsite. Even the dying fire and the moonlight in the clearing offered some illumination, but now I am surrounded on every side by trees. They rise far above my head, reaching toward the sky, dusky with the approaching morning.
It is easy to find the small path Sonia and I sought immediately upon arrival the night before. For obvious reasons, it has become habit to seek a private spot near every new site while Edmund makes camp. The path is surrounded by trees that provide shelter for the necessities that arise while making a journey such as ours. It leads to a small stream, and I hear the water rushing well before I arrive at its bank.
I do not want to announce my arrival, so I walk carefully along the path to the river, keeping an eye out for Luisa as I go. I do not see her along the way. In fact, I almost do not see her at all, even when I arrive at the clearing leading to the water.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the additional light afforded by the clearing, but when they do, Luisa becomes visible, bent over something near the river’s edge. I tell myself she could simply be washing in preparation for the day ahead, but somehow I know that is not at all what she is doing.
I do not want to walk through the clearing where she will see me before I am able to observe her, so I creep along the tree line, trying to keep myself hidden as I make my way to the riverbank. It is my good fortune that the river rushes so loudly. The sound of it muffles my clumsy steps and the snapping of dried twigs as I make my way to the water’s edge. Once there I have a better view of Luisa and see clearly what it is that she is doing.
Luisa gazes into one of the tin bowls we use to take meals. I see the water glimmer inside it, though not much else from where I am standing, and I understand immediately that she is scrying. It is not such an important revelation, really. It is true that we all made a pact long ago not to use our powers unless necessary to our goal of bringing an end to the prophecy, but it is very possible Luisa decided to scry in an effort to see the progress of the Hounds or to see any additional obstacles we might overcome.
It seems harmless. At first.
It is only as I stand there contemplating Luisa’s actions further that I get the sense that something is not quite right. It takes me a moment to place it, and when I do I realize why it disturbs me so.
The simple truth is that we have not made, do not make, decisions with regard to the prophecy — our part in it and our powers — without consulting one another. Yet Luisa is scrying in the night, having left our tent to brave the forest on her own even as the Hounds give chase. And she has done so without a word to any of us, which can only prompt the question: What is she hiding?
Our moods are as gray as the sky above while we pack our things for another day on horseback.
I woke Sonia after creeping back to the tent, and Luisa returned shortly afterward. I was not surprised when she used the excuse of tending to personal matters and not wanting to wake us as reason for her absence. Even when she left the tent to eat breakfast, I did not speak to Sonia of my morning excursion to spy on Luisa. I cannot say why, for of all the strange things that have happened in the past year, the newfound secretiveness between Sonia, Luisa, and me is the most disturbing of all.
Edmund rushes us through the breaking of camp. I sense the undercurrent of concern in his unusually terse orders, but when he grabs the shotgun, I begin to truly worry.
“Stay here,” he says, turning without another word and disappearing into the woods.
We stand in shocked silence, staring after him. We have not been traveling long, but even in so few days we have established a kind of routine — a routine that involves waking in the morning, dressing and preparing for the day as quickly as possible, packing our individual supplies, and eating a quick meal before mounting our horses and beginning the day’s journey. Nowhere in that routine has Edmund ever departed for the forest with a shotgun in hand.
“What is he doing?” Sonia asks.
I shake my head. “I have no idea, but whatever it is, I’m certain it’s entirely necessary.”
Sonia and Luisa stand stock-still, eyes trained on the place where Edmund disappeared into the forest. As usual, I have patience for neither sitting nor standing, and I pace the clearing of our campsite, worrying about what Edmund is doing and wondering how long we should wait before going to look for him. Thankfully, I don’t have to answer that question, for Edmund reenters the clearing a short time later. This time he is in a hurry.
“Mount up. Do it now.” He walks directly to his horse without a glance at any of us. He is astride and ready to ride in seconds.
I do not question him. Edmund would not move so quickly nor bid us to do so if there was not cause. But Luisa is not as pliant.
“What is it, Edmund? Is something wrong?” she asks.
He speaks through gritted teeth. “With all due respect, Miss Torelli, there will be time enough for questions later. Now is the time to mount your horse.”
Luisa places her hands on her hips. “I believe I have a right to know why there is a sudden rush to break camp.”
Edmund sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “The fact of the matter is, the Hounds are close, and there is something else out there, as well.”
My head whips up almost of its own volition. “What do you mean? What is it?”
“I don’t know.” He turns his horse toward the forest. “But whatever it is — whoever it is — is on horseback. And tracking us.”
12
It is a long morning, silent save for the horses’ hooves cutting a path across the forest floor. We speed through the trees, often so tightly packed there hardly seems to be a way through. I stay low, gripping Sargent’s neck as the wind whips his fine black mane into my face and my own hair is ensnarled several times by low-hanging twigs.
There is little to do but think during the morning’s journey. And there is much to think about: my sister and our meeting on the Plane, my fear for James, Sonia and Luisa and the distance that seems to be growing between us, our journey toward Altus, and the demonic Hounds giving chase.
But it is Luisa to whom my thoughts return again and again.
I want to deny the conclusion taking shape in my mind, but the images replaying there make it more and more difficult. I see Luisa’s face, set in the unfamiliar, almost angry expression she has worn almost every day since we departed London. I see her reentering the tent after her frequent and ill-explained disappearances. I see her crouching in the early morning light by the river, scrying in secret.
I’ve known, of course, that this was possible — that the Souls could, and likely would, seek to divide us. But I suppose I simply did not realize that it could happen like this. That it could be so insidious, a gradual separating of the bond that I have come to view as sacred, the bond between Sonia and Luisa and me — between two of the keys and myself, the Gate. Clearly, I have been naive.
The time will come for me to address Luisa’s betrayal, however unwilling her part in it may be, but in this moment, as we race through the wood leading us closer and closer to Altus, I cannot afford the distraction. For now, I shall have to assume that anything Luisa knows, the Souls may know as well. And that means keeping as much as possible from her.
We stop only once to feed and water the horses. The distrust in the air is a palpable thing, a living, breathing entity. I pace the ground while Edmund sees to the horses and Sonia and Luisa rest against two trees near the stream. There is no conversation as we wa
it for the horses to cool down enough to continue. There are no questions about our plans for the day or our proximity to the ocean that will mean we are close to Altus.
My nerves are pulled taut with a building anxiety I began to feel sometime during the morning’s ride. It is an anxiety that has little to do with Luisa and everything to do with the thing chasing us through the wood. I have learned not to discount such feelings, on the Plane or in our world. They are usually informed by my newly heightened gifts and senses. I know the nagging, incessant plucking at my nerves for what it is — a warning of the swiftly approaching Hounds. In some dark corner of my mind I am certain I can hear their breathing as they approach.
When Edmund finally strides toward his horse and bids us to do the same, I cannot mount quickly enough. I pull up next to him and lower my voice so that the others, busy situating themselves, cannot hear.
“They are going to catch us, aren’t they?”
He takes a deep breath and nods. “Today, if we don’t find a river.”
“And will we?” I ask the question quickly, aware that we only have so much time before the others are ready to ride.
He looks around, making certain of our privacy before lowering his voice to continue. “I have a map of sorts. It is an old one, but I don’t believe this forest has changed in the past hundred years.”
I am surprised. Edmund has not made mention of a map before now. “Is that how you have been guiding us?”
He nods. “My memory is not what it used to be, you see. I didn’t want to tell anyone…” He looks around again in the direction of Sonia and Luisa. “I didn’t want someone else to get ahold of it. The location of Altus has always been held in the highest confidence. Very few know of its existence at all, and fewer still know how to reach it. Your father left me the map before his death to ensure that I could get you there if you ever needed safe haven. There are other… safeguards in place to keep out unwanted visitors, but nonetheless, I would hate to lead an enemy to its door.”
I am hardly in a position to pass judgment on Edmund and his secret. I have more than a few of my own.
I nod. “All right, then. What of this map?”
“At first, I was leading you to Altus by the quickest way possible, but when I realized the Hounds were following, I started taking a more circuitous route.”
“But… if the Hounds are following shouldn’t we try to get to Altus faster rather than slower?”
He nods. “That is one way of looking at it, but even if we make good time, there is always the possibility that they will catch up to us. But the map… the map shows a large body of water, a river very wide, that may just help us lose them entirely. It is only slightly off our original course and is not far from the ocean where we are to meet the boat to Altus. If we can lose the Hounds at the river and make straight for the sea, we may be out of danger entirely. At least where the Hounds are concerned.”
“Is it deep enough?”
He sighs and begins turning his horse, looking at me over his shoulder. “That’s just the thing. We won’t know until we get there, but it appears large on the map.”
He shouts instructions to the rest of the group as I make for my usual position in the line. I try not to think too hard about Edmund’s revelation. It is impossible to know if we can outrun the Hounds, just as it is impossible to know if the river will be deep enough to leave them behind and just as it is impossible to know who follows on horseback somewhere in the dark woods behind us. It only makes sense to conserve my energy, mental and otherwise, for things in which I have a hand.
For now, all I can do is ride.
I would like to think we will outrun them, that the Hounds are far enough behind that their catching us is only a distant possibility, but it is not true. I know they grow closer and closer still, though we travel so swiftly that I cannot imagine how fast the Hounds must be that they are able to move even faster.
I know that Edmund feels it, too, for just a short time after leaving our resting place, he urges his horse on even faster. I hear him scream at the animal, and I hunch even lower over Sargent’s neck, silently begging him to move faster though I know from his labored breathing that he has already been pushed too hard.
I did not have time to look at Edmund’s map. I did not even have time to ask him how far we are from the river that he is counting on to be our saving grace. But as we ride farther and farther through the trees, as the sky grows duskier with the coming evening, I hope fervently that it is near and utter muttered pleas of assistance to any who might be listening — God, the Sisters, the Grigori.
But it is not enough. It is only seconds later, only seconds after my hurried prayers, that I hear them coming in the trees right behind us. What moves through the forest is no simple animal. I hear howling screams and know immediately that a wolf or a dog would be a blessing compared to what follows us. It is not the growl of an animal but something much, much more terrifying.
Something inhuman.
Then there is the crashing. The beasts on our tail do not give chase with the light-footed grace of a forest animal. Instead, they beat ferociously through the foliage with pure power and strength. Limbs snap off trees as the creatures barrel toward us. Their footfalls are the sound of the sky itself splitting in two.
Luisa and Sonia do not look back but keep Edmund’s pace with single-minded concentration. I focus on their backs and am running through the painfully short list of escape possibilities when I hear the unmistakable rushing of water. The path ahead brightens, first a little at a time and then all at once, and I know we are nearing the river.
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” I whisper in Sargent’s ear. A river like the one Edmund described would give any horse pause, and pausing is something we cannot afford.
We burst through a clearing, and I see it, a green jewel shimmering in the fading sunlight. Even as we break free of the trees and head for the water, the Hounds are so close I can smell them, a strange mixture of fur, sweat, and something like rot.
Luisa’s horse runs into the river without hesitation followed by Luisa’s, but Sonia’s horse slows, coming to a stop near the edge of the water. I hear her urging the animal forward, pleading as if he can understand every word. It does no good. The great, gray beast stands stubbornly still.
There is only a moment — one moment in which everything moves both too slowly and too quickly — to decide what to do. It is an easy decision if only because there are so few options left.
Pulling my horse to a stop, I turn to face the Hounds.
At first, the clearing in front of me is empty. But I hear them coming, and I use the time to reach behind me, pulling the bow from across my back and grabbing an arrow from inside my knapsack. Threading the arrow and pulling it back in preparation for the Hounds is second nature, though all my practice at Whitney Grove could not prepare me for the beast that first crashes through the trees.
It is not what I expect. The creature is not black with red eyes as I imagined a Hound would be. No. Only its ears glow crimson, its fur glimmering white with the brilliance of fine cut glass. It is an eerie contrast, seeing such a beast — and a beast it is, standing nearly as tall as Sargent — covered with such virgin fur. I would almost be willing to brave my fear to stroke that shimmering fur if not for its emerald eyes. Eyes like mine. Like my mother’s and my sister’s. They call to me, a terrifying reminder that, though we may be on opposing sides, we are inexorably connected through the prophecy that binds us all.
I can hear the other beasts howling in the forest behind the Hound in front. I don’t know how many will follow, but it is all I can do to try to eliminate as many as possible and hope to allow my friends more time to cross the river.
It is not easy to take aim. They are faster than any beast I have ever seen and their nearly translucent fur blends seamlessly into the surrounding mist. It is only the glow of their ears and those magnetic eyes that keep me from losing them in the fog completely.
&n
bsp; Aiming carefully for the area I hope is the beast’s chest, I try to find the pattern in his gait. Then I pull the bow tighter and let the arrow fly. It sails through the air, arcing gracefully over the clearing and hitting the Hound so suddenly that I am almost surprised to see him go down.
I am pulling the string back for another shot when something moves out of the corner of my eye and another pristine beast breaks through the tree line on my right. It veers into the clearing in front of me as my mind works at light speed, trying to figure my odds of hitting one more. Holding fast, I focus on the Hound in front of me. I am certain I can take him before he reaches me when yet another Hound turns into the clearing from the left.
And still many, many more can be heard howling in the woods behind these two.
My arms begin to shake as I hold my position… thinking, thinking… trying to decide what to do. A sudden crack sounds behind me to the left, and the Hound entering the clearing falls in an instant. Gunpowder scents the air, and I know without taking my eyes off the clearing that Edmund is covering me with his rifle.
“Lia! There isn’t time! Get to the river now.”
Edmund’s voice shakes my certainty. Still gripping my bow, I wheel Sargent to face the river, making a break for the water with as much speed as I can manage while clutching my bow. Edmund zips past me, heading for the middle of the river, but Sonia’s horse still stalls at the bank. She struggles with the reins, trying to coax him into the water to no avail. He high-steps around the rocky ground, lifting and turning his head in response to Sonia’s commands.
I do not have time to think. Not really. Racing toward the water, I stretch out a hand as I come up behind Sonia’s horse. When I reach his flank, I slap with all my might.
At first, I don’t know if it has worked, for my own horse speeds past Sonia and heads straight into the water. His hooves splash across the river bottom, but it is more a sensation than a sound for I cannot hear anything but the Hounds. Their howl is so close I believe I feel the heat of their breath on my back. I push Sargent farther into the river, praying he will not stop or turn around and head back to the bank.
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