Page 246 of Eldritch
“Zevander?” The distant sound of Maevyth’s voice called him from inside the tree.
“Go on, then,” Cadavros urge. “Find her.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Zevander strode forward, and stepped inside the cavity of the tree.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
MAEVYTH
Hand outstretched, I watched the ledge drift farther away. Wind hurled at my back, my dress flickering around my legs as I fell.
Down, down, down.
A scream ripped from my throat—useless and futile, as I continued to plummet toward what would ultimately be a painful death. I only hoped my body would give out, that I might slip into darkness before hitting the ground.
Air exploded from my chest as my spine struck a hard surface, and my stomach rose into my throat.
Already? Surely, the mountain had been taller than that. As I turned over to cough, my fingers curled into feathers. Soft black feathers. Retching and gagging, I flipped onto my stomach, hacking and coughing for one sip of oxygen, while the wind rushed over me like a thief, swiping up the air in a vicious gale. I buried my face in Raivox and gasped a breath, pulling my knees beneath me. Clawed fingers digging into scales, I grasped my way toward those horns, the wind tearing at my face. Once secure, I exhaled a shuddering breath and closed my eyes.
Pushing to my knees, never once taking my hands off the horns, I looked to see that we were flying away from the mountains.
Hopefully, toward The Rotting Tree.
Adistance that should’ve taken days to travel, only took a matter of hours for Raivox, who soared through the skies at a dizzying speed. My legs trembled when I climbed from his back, and they nearly buckled beneath me when my boots finally hit the ground. I’d have kissed it, had we not been standing smack in the middle of The Eating Woods.
When Raivox straightened, the view he’d been blocking had my stomach twisted in knots. Through the white fog, stood a towering tree, weathered and gnarled like every other in the forest. But what set that one apart was its size and the way its roots stuck up from the ground, like a small labyrinth, leading up toward the gaping hole in its trunk. I swallowed a gulp, keeping my eyes on that dark cavity as I approached with careful steps.
Raivox stalked alongside me, quietly growling in his throat.
Stepping over thick, knotty roots, I swept my gaze across the surrounding trees in search of Zevander but found only the eerie stillness of the forest. When we reached the mouth of the entrance, Raivox lowered his head, sniffing, his body far too big to fit through the opening that seemed to be waiting to swallow someone whole. He growled again and I placed my hand on his neck to calm him.
“It’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’s not even in there.” A nervous laugh escaped me as I peered into the hole, where a flickering light shone over a staircase that looked to be coveredin a leathery texture and descended below ground level. Every dozen steps, or so, smooth, ivory bowls, which looked to be carved from bone, held kindling and oiled cloth that crackled beneath small flames. Seen through what little light there was, the stairs curved beyond a wall, the space around which was so dark, it nearly consumed that small bit of light.
“I’ll return soon,” I said to Raivox then carefully ducked inside, trailing my gaze over the spider webs I spotted overhead. Even though I’d gotten somewhat used to seeing them while visiting Branimir, the sight still cast a shiver down my spine.
As I took the first step, my hand brushed a small handrail, the surface too smooth to be wood. I glanced down.
Not wood, but skin.
It brought to mind the corpses often found at the edge of the woods, absent of their skin.
Drawing back my hand, I held it tucked close and tiptoed on down into the depths of the tree. The unsettling feeling of something watching me sent a prickling over my skin. That, or perhaps it was the cold swallowing me the deeper I ventured.
The stairwell opened up to a vast, cavernous space, the height of it impossible to estimate through the thick webbing overhead.
I stepped cautiously, careful not to get close to the bits of webbing that hung lower. A cocoon-looking lump in the web dangled by a silky gossamer strand and held the shape of a body trapped inside of it.
Zevander?
I glanced around for something to cut through the webbing and raised my hand with the sharp, metallic claws on the glove.
In quick slashes, I cut away the webbing which didn’t seem to stick at all to the glove’s scaly surface. Instead, it fell away in flitting tufts to the ground, revealing Mr. Thurman, the village carpenter, and his half-decayed face.
Grimacing, I stepped back.
His eyes shot open.
I exhaled a sharp breath staring back at the black of his pupils which bled into his irises and sclera.
