Page 17 of The Crow Games

Nola outpaced us with her longer strokes. We slowed when Ruchel spotted a new road through the park. Blood oozed from the small punctures in my arms, clouding the water around me.

“Out of the lake!” Ruchel screamed, her punctured cheek so swollen it slurred her words.

We thrashed furiously toward the shore. When I hit the bank, the silt swallowed up my right boot. Ruchel and Nola tossed their packs onto the grass and sprinted to my side.

“Leave me—I’m right behind you,” I told them, but they ignored me.

Ruchel slid under my arm, bracing me with her shoulders. Nola grabbed me up around the waist and hoisted me. The pull stretched my foot at an odd angle, and I cried out. Together they ripped me out of the muck. I limped after them as fast as my strained ankle would allow.

We hid in the foliage strung between moss-covered oak trees, waiting out the threat that had Ruchel on edge. Waterlogged, I dripped all over. I used a stick to scrape off the sludge weighing down my right foot. My aching ankle puffed up, pressing against the lip of my boot.

Something heavy moved through the trees off in the distance, ruffling leaves and snapping branches. Birds stopped singing. With great caution, I leaned my weight against a slippery, lichen-coated trunk, filling my lungs with the earthy scent of silt and loam. My heartrate slowed to a steady patter as the sounds of movement trailed away. The big creature moved on, none the wiser. The birds sang to one another in the trees.

Large bubbles broke the surface of the dark lake, and my pulse surged. A blue scaled face, eyes yellow and deep-set, peeked out between the ripples. I shivered knowing the water devil—a type of garm—was making a meal of the blood I’d left behind. The creature patrolled the shore not far from us, but it made no effort to pursue.

We retreated to the edge of the park. The nearby buildings were cobbled together with crude stone columns and broad archways. Wet trousers made the chafing at my thighs worse, forcing me to walk with a wide gait. We marched on until the earthen path turned to pavers and my boots and clothes were almost dry again.

My limp slowed us, but we still made it to the clock tower with three hours to spare.

The street was clear. We rested on the stone steps of a great library dedicated to Alwin, just outside the entrance to the tower. A larger coven of witches had taken shelter inside the atrium of the library. They paid us no mind, and we did the same.

The clock was so large, I could hear it ticking above us. Images of the gods in their giant forms were etched into the tower’s dark stone façade.

“Are you hurt?” Ruchel asked.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” I told her. I rolled the sleeves of my shirtwaist up to my elbows. Blisters dotted my arms from the stingers, but none of my shallow injuries seemed worth fussing over.

Ruchel wasn’t so lucky. Her cheek had only gotten worse, now puffy and pink.

I gave Nola the damp biscuits from my satchel, payment for saving me with her red magic. She munched on them enthusiastically, replenishing some of her spent energy. I wiped down my revolver and pocket pistol thoroughly.

Nola and Ruchel emptied their heavy packs, laying out items to dry in the heat. Most of what Nola carried were weapons: daggers, throwing knives, and hatchets. The blanket in my satchel would need to be left behind. It had already started to mold and would be worthless even cut into bandages, but the salt had been spared from the lake by the tins. I kicked my boots off, checking on my torn stockings. The skin was rubbed raw in patches across the tops of my toes.

Ruchel saw the state of my feet and handed me woolen socks from her stash.

“I don’t want to take things from you,” I said, shaking my head. “Keep them. You’ll need them soon enough.”

“Shut your trap, duck,” Nola ordered. “People die out here when they don’t take care of their feet. Good socks are better than gold in Wulfram. Put them on. Now.”

“We’ll find more,” Ruchel reassured me, pushing the set into my arms.

I pulled them on. They were damp but soft. Emotion burned in my throat, the gesture so considerate that it stung me. I was supposed to be proving that I was worth keeping around, and it didn’t feel like I’d done that at all. I wiped at my wet eyes, grateful when neither of my companions commented on the tears I couldn’t stifle. I was too tired to check my grief, too weak and wrung out to conjure up a mental mortar and pestle.

I missed Lisbeth fiercely.

I miss you back, love, her voice said in my head.

Why are you dead? Who took you away from me, Lisbeth? Please just tell me,I begged.

You’ll figure it out. You always do,she said.

Her voice was one of my own making, but it made me cry anyway. I wept until my nose ran. Ruchel and Nola kept to themselves, quietly letting me get it out. Blubbering likely made me less desirable as a coven mate, but I couldn’t stop myself now that I’d started.

Memories of Lisbeth’s early years spun behind my wet lids. We’d had more time together than most, but now none of it was enough. It had passed by much too quickly. I wanted more. I needed it! I needed her! The gods couldn’t do this to me. I didn’t even know who I was anymore without Lisbeth.

I hated it here. I hated everywhere without her.

When the tears finally ceased, my head hurt, but there was a new clarity to my thoughts that hadn’t been there before. My spirit had revived, still pitiful compared to its usual state but replenished even more so than it had been at the start of the trial. In the distance, black smoke streamed up steadily from the trees, tarnishing the golden clouds to a dull bronze.

---