Page 2 of Feral Gods
An arrow whistles past, embedding itself in the ground inches from my foot. I kick frantically, squeezing my body through the gap until I tumble out the other side, beyond the walls of Liiandor for the first time in six years.
But I cannot pause to savor the moment. Before me stretches the open expanse of snow-covered ground leading to the denseforests of Causadurn Ridge. Behind me, shouts of rage echo as the dark elves discover my escape route.
I force my aching legs to carry me forward, each step sinking into ankle-deep snow. The forest seems impossibly distant, but it represents my only hope. Dark elves are not fond of the wild places of Protheka, where things older and stranger than them still dwell.
The cold bites through my thin servant's dress, and my bare feet have gone numb. Still, I push on, even as I hear the horns that signal a hunting party being assembled. They will have equus and tracking batlaz. I have only desperation and a head start.
The trees of Causadurn Ridge gradually grow closer, their dark silhouettes promising shelter. The forest is said to be home to waira—the man-eaters of legend—but right now, I fear the known evil of the dark elves more than the rumored monsters of the wild.
I reach the treeline as the first light of dawn breaks over the eastern horizon. The forest is dense, ancient pines and tiphe trees creating a canopy so thick that little light penetrates to the forest floor. I pause for a moment, gasping for breath, and listen. In the distance, I hear the baying of batlaz and the thundering of hooves. The hunt has begun in earnest.
I plunge deeper into the forest, following a game trail that winds between moss-covered stones and fallen logs. The ground slopes upward, and I realize I'm climbing into the mountains of Causadurn Ridge itself. Good—the higher I go, the harder it will be for the equus to follow.
A bitter wind cuts through the trees, carrying with it the first flakes of snow. The weather, at least, is on my side. A blizzard will cover my tracks and force even the most determined hunters to seek shelter.
Hours pass as I push forward, my body numbed by cold and exhaustion. The snow falls faster now, driven by howling winds that seem to carry whispers of my name. My mind, foggy with fatigue, begins to play tricks on me. I see shadows moving between the trees that vanish when I turn to look directly at them.
"Just a little further," I murmur to myself, my voice a cracked whisper. "Just a little further and then you can rest."
But I know resting means death in this cold. I must find shelter or I will become another frozen corpse for the dark elves to find when the storm passes.
The snowfall thickens until I can barely see ten paces ahead. The wind drives icy needles against my face, and my limbs grow heavier with each step. Strangely, I no longer feel cold. A dangerous sign—I remember the whispered tales of other slaves who fled only to be found frozen, their faces peaceful as if they'd simply fallen asleep.
I stumble on an unseen root and fall to my knees in the snow. Getting up seems an impossible task. Perhaps I could rest, just for a moment...
No!Something fierce and primal within me refuses to surrender. I did not endure six years of servitude to die in the snow at the edge of freedom. I force myself to my feet, swaying unsteadily as I scan my surroundings.
Through the curtain of snow, I glimpse something—a darker shadow against the white. A cliff face, rising sheer from the mountainside. And in it, what seems to be an opening. A cave, perhaps, or some ancient dwelling carved into the stone.
Hope gives me a final burst of strength. I lurch forward, each step a battle against the deepening snow and my own failing body. The dark opening grows larger as I approach, revealing a weathered archway of carved stone, half-hidden by centuries of overgrowth.
The baying of the batlaz echoes behind me, closer now. The storm has not deterred the most dedicated of my pursuers. I have no choice but to seek refuge in this mysterious sanctuary, whatever dangers it might hold.
I stumble through the archway, gasping as I enter a space protected from the howling wind. My eyes, accustomed to the brightness of snow, struggle to adjust to the sudden darkness. I can make out only vague shapes—what seems to be a vast chamber with columns rising to a ceiling lost in shadow.
My foot catches on an uneven stone, and I fall to my knees once more. This time, I lack the strength to rise. Behind me, the hunting horns sound again, closer than before. Soon they will find the entrance, and I will be dragged back to Liiandor in chains—if I'm lucky enough to be taken alive. King Kres is not known for mercy to escaped slaves.
In the darkness of this ancient place, a strange feeling washes over me—a sense of being watched, of presences older than the stone itself. Perhaps it is merely delirium from cold and exhaustion, but I feel something stirring in the shadows, something awakening to my presence.
"Please," I whisper into the darkness, my voice breaking. "If anyone or anything dwells in this place... help me. I ask only for sanctuary."
My words seem to echo strangely, as if the very stones absorb and amplify them. The air grows suddenly heavy, charged with something I cannot name. The hairs on my arms rise despite the cold, and I sense a shift in the darkness surrounding me—a weight of attention focusing on my huddled form.
"I have nothing to offer in return," I continue, desperation making me heedless of whether I address empty air or something more. "But I swear by whatever gods might listen that I will repay any kindness with loyalty. Just don't let them take me back."
Something moves in the darkness ahead—a scraping sound, like stone against stone. My heart hammers in my chest as I strain to see through the gloom. A shape seems to detach itself from the shadows, massive and inhuman.
The last of my strength abandons me, and I slump forward, consciousness fleeing even as I imagine glowing amber eyes opening in the darkness, fixing upon me with ancient, predatory interest.
My final thought before blackness claims me is a strange certainty that my life has irreversibly changed—that the sanctuary I've found is far more dangerous than I could have imagined, yet somehow exactly where I'm meant to be.
2
RAVIK
Darkness. Silence. Eternity.
These have been my companions for centuries untold. The curse has left me aware yet unaware, trapped in a half-existence between consciousness and oblivion. Time has no meaning in stone sleep. I drift in a void of fractured memories and smothered rage.
