Page 42 of The Iron Vow

I clutched the warg’s fur in my fists, forgetting that it was insubstantial and feeling it dissolve between my fingers. I couldn’t see anything between the darkness and clinging fog, but the rider didn’t seem concerned as its mount plowed ahead, swerving and making turns without commands, the walls and ceiling swooping dangerously close. Thankfully, the wild ride didn’t last long; a hazy sphere of light appeared ahead of us, showing the end of the tunnel, and I took a breath of relief as we sprang through.

Beneath me, the mistwarg slowed, going from a bounding run to an easy trot. Sneaking a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw all my companions were still there, seated atop their mounts as the wargs padded silently from the tunnel. Ash caught my gaze from his seat behind his Pale Rider, his jaw set and his expression carefully blank. Clearly, he was having just as much fun as I was.

“We are home,” my rider said.

Straightening, I looked up as the edges of the fog rolled back just a little to reveal a small grove in the mist. Trees were scattered around us, tendrils of mist caught in their branches, and long blades of grass brushed my boots as we padded into the open. As the fog continued to roll back, I could see the tall, crumbled silhouettes of stone ruins, overgrown with trees and vines, surrounding the grove. Tattered cloth banners hung from some of the towers, and wooden platforms and walkways connected several of the ruins. Figures ghosted between them, riders and mistwargs moving silently between the stones like ragged wraiths.

My mistwarg came to a stop a few yards from a half-ruined gatehouse, and the Pale Rider slid from its back. As it held out an arm to help me down, two other riders emerged from behind the gate and prowled forward with spears held at their sides.

“You bring the strangers.” The voice was soft and raspy, nearly identical to that of the rider standing beside me. “The Whisper is waiting for them at the falls. She has bidden us to send you to her when you arrive.”

“Understood.”

The two guards padded away, and the figure next to me turned to watch the rest of his pack come in. Once his mistwarg had stopped moving, Ash immediately swung from its back and strode up to me.

“You’re all right?” he asked once he was close enough that only I could hear him.

I nodded. “Kind of a wild ride.” I futilely tried smoothing down my hair, which was in tangles from riding a bouncing mistwarg across the plains. “You didn’t happen to see a giant spider crawling around those mountain paths, did you?”

He grimaced. “And its mate. I wasn’t going to say anything to Puck.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“If you two are talking about the massive creepy-crawly near the caves, you can save your breath.” Puck sauntered up, his red hair looking even wilder than usual. “I saw it. And I will be avoiding the mountains from now on.”

“This way.” The rider walked by us, neither impressed nor amused by our banter. “The Whisper is waiting for us.”

We followed the rider through the base, ducking beneath wooden platforms and around enormous stone pillars. Riders and mistwargs stared at us, their blue eyes giving nothing away. Except for our own footsteps and the howling of wind through the peaks surrounding the grove, the camp was deathly quiet. Conversations were held in whispers, and even the silvery flames of small campfires scattered throughout the camp made no sound. Only the distant moaning of the Wailing One could be heard, constant and unbreaking, in the peaks towering overhead.

The Pale Rider took us through the camp and continued into the forest. Like the camp, the woods were eerily quiet and still. Fog crept between roots and hovered over the grass, and I didn’t glimpse any wildlife flitting in the branches or slipping through the trees. I wondered if the animals were all shy and scared with the riders being so close, or if, like the riders themselves, they had perfected the art of not making any noise at all.

And then I began to hear a faint sound coming through the trees. A whisper of noise, low and constant. After a moment, I recognized the sound of falling water.

The trees opened up, and we stepped into a clearing surrounded by cliffs. Across the stones, directly in front of us, a waterfall tumbled into a shallow pool, though even the noise of the falls seemed muffled and indistinct. Mist drifted up from the churning water, partially hiding the pale figure seated on a stone before the falls.

I blinked. I hadn’t even seen the figure at first; hunched and pale, it blended into the falls and rising mist. From this distance, it was hard to make out what was person and what was coiling spray from the waterfall.

“The Whisper,” the Pale Rider said. It had stopped at the edge of the trees, indicating that the next part of the journey would be made without it. “She waits for you. Go to her, but do not touch the water.”

As we drew closer to the waterfall and the figure seated on the rock, a scent came to me, sharp and somehow cloying, burning my nose and making my eyes water. I coughed, causing Ash to turn to me in alarm, placing a gentle hand on my back as I heaved.

“Meghan?”

“I’m fine.” I gagged, then took a quick breath to open my throat. Unfortunately, that only made it worse, and I coughed for a good few seconds before getting myself under control again. Maybe it was my half-human side that was reacting this way, but it did not like whatever was coming off the water. Glancing up, I saw everyone watching me in concern, from Ash to Puck to Gilleas to the three assassins, staring at me with wide gold eyes. “Sorry,” I told them all, wiping the tears streaming down my face. “I don’t know what that was, but it was awful.”

You taste the tears of the Wailing One.

The voice was a breath in my ears, coming to me even over the muted roar of the falls. In the rising mist and fog, I couldn’t see the figure move, but there was no question as to who was speaking to us.

The bitter rage of the Wailing One, the Whisper continued.The agony of failure and despair. Two thin, wrapped arms emerged from beneath the ragged shawl, indicating the pool around us.Her grief is so great, her tears flow down the mountain, seeping into the land, poisoning everything they touch.They collect here, at this pool, and the land cries with her as the tears soak through the very rock and dirt at our feet.

“Ew,” Puck remarked. “So, I’m hearing that taking a nice refreshing dive in the pool is out.”

I saw your coming,the Whisper went on, ignoring Puck. The head shifted, and I caught the glimmer of a blue eye through the silvery strands, peering at me.I saw you in the fog, making your way to the Howling Peaks. I saw the Wailing One as well. She knows you are coming. She is waiting for you.

“Is that why you called us here?” Gilleas asked. “To tell us that the Nightmare knows we are coming? Sadly, we cannot allow that to stop us.”

I saw two paths, the Whisper said, and I was unsure if this was a response to Gilleas’s question or not.In one, you ignored my riders and continued. You made your way to the top of the Howling Peaks, where the Nightmare waited for you. And one by one, you fell. You were not able to defeat her. And the world unraveled.

---