Page 25 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silas let out a rough exhale. She looked sideways at him.
His eyes were fixed on the marker as he spoke. “I passed through here only a few days ago,” Silas murmured. Amelia looked back into the Rift, seeing the darkness move and ripple, an entity of its own within the cursed space of land. She didn’t know how it seemed so invisible when you stood amongst it, while being clear as day outside of it. The ripples, almost a dark purple, were ominous, deadly.
And it was growing.
“That marker was…” He shook his head and turned to her. “Well, that section of land was still land. Now it’s been…consumed.”
She shifted uneasily at the words, something weighing down on her chest. Words, written in an unmarked journal belonging to Silas floated back to her.The bond is not simply connection; it is consumption.
“Is it the Monoliths?” Amelia asked. “Are they causing it to expand?”
Silas shook his head again. “I don’t know. No one does. Yet.”
He turned abruptly, striding back to his horse. Amelia followed him and they both remounted their steeds and wasted no time in getting them moving, each of them wanting distance from the Rift as fast as possible.
They were silent for a while before he spoke again. “The darkness of the Rift has been growing for centuries.” His voice was quiet, contemplative. She barely heard it over the gentle breeze and sounds of their horses as they trotted across grassy plains. “But the rate has been slow, steady. That…in a few days? Unheard of.”
She gripped her reins tightly. “We didn’t do that, did we?”
He looked across at her, an expressionless mask on his face, before turning away, jaw flexing.
“I don’t know,” was all he said.
They rode on as Silas led them onto a path. A creaking signpost indicated that a lodge lay ahead.
The quiet between them was thick, pressing against her in the wake of the Rift’s growth. She didn’t know what to make of it, what it meant for the future of magic. For the future of Aethrial.
With the weight of the Rift lifted away from her, Amelia quietly assessed herself. She realised the feeling of it wasn’t gone, only muted. She could feel the slight buzzing under her skin, the sliver of unease in her bones, no matter how much distance they put between themselves and the Rift.
Amelia wondered if the safety of the Shadowlands was an illusion, and while the magic felt less prominent, she knew that it had followed them across the border.
EIGHT
Nestled between two mountains and surrounded by thickets of dark trees, Rider’s Retreat was a waystation for travellers who were reckless enough to venture near the Rift.
Amelia had never visited before, choosing Waystone travel to transport her directly to cities and towns. She was surprised to find that the large building teemed with people wandering in and out of the lodge or loitering near the stables.
The lodge was fortified with reinforced walls of stone foundations and protective runes carved across every beam she could see.
As they dismounted their horses, the smell of forestry and rain-soaked grass gave way to a strong scent of damp wood and animals.
Amelia followed Silas, holding the reins of her horse, towards a sprawling stable yard stretched out beside the lodge. Lined with wooden pens, horses shifted or stomped in their enclosures restlessly. Lanterns fuelled by arcane crystals flickered in the growing dusk, casting golden pools of light that barely pushed back the shadows of the approaching night.
Amelia glanced warily at the small stables and the uneasy nature of the horses. Silas, perfectly content, loosened the reins on Ember with practiced ease.
She eyed the pens before inching closer to Silas. “I’m not sure I trust this place with Tempest. Look at the stalls. How do we know what they feed the horses, or if they feed them at all?”
Silas snorted, tugging on the reins before turning his head. “You don’t trust them to care for our horses? What do you think they’re going to do? Roast them over a fire?”
She had been glancing at a stable hand, sitting on a bale of hay, and looking supremely bored, but shot Silas a look at his sarcasm. “We could stable them ourselves. There’s a hitching post over there and a trough. If we can purchase food, at least we know they’ll be groomed and fed to a high standard.”
Silas rubbed at his temples with a sigh. “Winslow, we’ve been travelling all day. I’m starving and exhausted. The last thing I want to do is hand-feed my horse like some kind of doting parent.”
Tempest flicked her tail and stomped a front hoof into the dirt as though protesting his words. Silas glanced at Tempest guardedly.
Amelia patted her head gently. “Iama doting parent. She’s been a perfect companion for this trip and deserves the attention. Besides,” she said, sending his chestnut gelding alook, “Tempest actually listens to me, so perhaps I’m alone in thinking she deserves it.”
Silas looked offended. “Ember listens to me,” he said, giving his horse an affectionate rub. “She just has occasional temporary deafness.”
