Page 7 of Eldritch
I turned back to Aleysia and nuzzled my face in the crook of her neck. “Please wake up. I promise to take you away from this place if you do.”
Veiled in a gray twilight, the trees stood silent, their skeletal forms twisted and gnarled, mantled in a slinking white mist. The scent of death and decay, like freshly turned graves, clogged my throat, as I stepped cautiously through the brush, unfamiliar with my surroundings. Small, black, insectile critters scampered over the ground, the unnerving tick of their skittering legs prickling my skin. The sense of someone stalking me tickled the back of my neck, though I didn’t know who or what it was.
I kept on the pathless trek, which took me deeper into the trees until, at last, a vast tree stood in the distance—one so imposing, I imagined it served some ominous purpose for the forest. On approach, I took note of the tree’s limbs, frowning on realizing they resembled human legs and arms. As I passed a cluster of upturned roots, I saw a child’s face carved in the bark, her small hands reaching upward for whatever it was that couldn’t save her. The details were so vivid, I recalled her from a distant dream. One of a man in armor tossing her over the edge of a cliff.
And this must’ve been her fate.
I glanced around to see more faces and hands reaching out, their expressions anguished and in pain, like something had swallowed them from below.
Closer, I went toward the ominous tree and etched into the bark was the face of a woman, her expression also twisted in pain. I reached out to touch her, and her eyes shot open to black orbs.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun,” she rasped.Only death can save us.
Terror curled up my spine, my heart pounding in my chest so hard, it ached. I placed my hand there, feeling the beat against my palm.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.”
A few steps back, I could see a red glow across the trunk. A pulsing across the surface that thumped in time to my own heartbeat.
“Sole mortiz facje salvirun.”
My foot caught on a thick tree root that had wrapped itself around my ankle, and I tumbled backward, landing hard on my backside. The root wrapped around my other ankle, then crawled up my legs to my shin, and a wave of panic washed over me. Scratching at the thick, clasping appendage did nothing to loosen it. “Get off me! Get off me!” The root climbed higher, up both thighs and around my belly, snaking its way up my back. I clawed to tear it away, but my nails only scratched at the rough surface. “No! Let me go!”
Tendrils of the root wrapped around my neck, and hysterics seized my breath as it tightened at my throat.
Tighter.
Tighter.
I opened my mouth to scream but could summon nothing more than a hoarse rasp.
Please!
My eyes shot open to two black orbs staring down at me. Soulless, black eyes framed by long, dirty locks of blond hair that belonged to my sister.
Her lips moved quickly as words I didn’t recognize spilled out of her at a frantic speed. Pressure at my throat had my eyes watering, and I let out a small cough. My lungs beat inside my chest for one sip of air, and tears filled my eyes as I raised my hands for the blackened fingertips that would turn her to dust at my command.
Please don’t make me do this. Please, Aleysia. Don’t make me do this!
“Kill her, Maevyth,” the voice I recognized as Morsana’s urged. “Kill her now!”
The world faded to a pinprick.
Then blackness.
CHAPTER TWO
ZEVANDER
Past …
Zevander’s father quickly staggered a few steps ahead of him, weaving through the crowd of the busy market. For an older codger with a splintered shank, the senior Rydainn managed just fine on that one crutch of his. The mask concealing the lower part of young Zevander’s face scratched at his skin, but his father insisted that he wear it in public spaces, to avoid suspicion from those who might stare at the boy.
It wasn’t long before they reached Black Salt Tavern, a quiet pub on the outskirts of Costelwick. The elder Lord Rydainn pushed through the heavy wooden door, and it groaned as it opened into the dimly lit tavern, where a little more than a dozen men sat around tables. Having accompanied his mother and sister on visits to Costelwick, it had become natural for the boy to scan his surroundings.
Once inside, his father paused only a moment before setting his sights on an obscure figure sat toward the back and cloaked in shadows. His father hobbled toward them, with Zevander trailing behind, and came to a stop alongside the table.
The stranger, their face concealed by a ragged, oversized hood, didn’t bother to lift their gaze.
