Page 66 of Soul of Thorns
“Move, Caelynn,” the wraith orders. “Over there. I’d carry you if I could, but...”
My limbs don’t have the ability to carry me now. But I look to where he’s pointing. At the bottom of a mountain, there is a short stretch of open ground where it seems the seeping wound ends. I swallow.
Block it out, Cae. If there is one thing you’ve always been good at, it’s blocking out the worst bits. Focus and move.
I close my eyes and push through my pain. I keep my eyes closed, and I crawl over the mushy ground. My whole body trembles. I picture a simple swamp of dirt and algae. That’s all this is, I tell myself.
My nose tells a different story. I cannot block out the smell of putrid flesh. I stop and wretch a second time, still not daring to open my eyes.
“Keep going,” the wraith whispers. “You’re doing good. Keep moving. I’ll tell you when you can rest.”
Rest, I think. It sounds like such a lovely word. But I don’t even know what that feels like. My bottom lip trembles and tears begin their stream down my cheeks again.
Why was this so hard? Why now?
Because he abandoned you,a voice whispers.
No,I think.
He thinks you’re dead. And he doesn’t care. The darkness presses in on me. It bites at my soul, carving away pieces of it. Bit by bit. My own shadows that once comforted me. That once held me like a parent when I had none.
My heart roars with the pain of a final heartbreak—of betrayal.
This is how I will die. This is what my life has come to.
“Keep going, Caelynn. You are strong. So much stronger than they think.” He’s shouting now. Can he see how close I am to giving up? “Prove it to them!”
But what if they’re right?I don’t even have the energy to say the words aloud.
“A few more feet,” he coaches.
I force my muscles on.
I can do this, I think. I won’t stop until I can’t anymore.
“One more,” he whispers.
My hand reaches a powdery substance, and I push again until my knees are on dry ground. My body collapses there in a fit of sobs.
“Shh,” my wraith coos over my fallen body.
My breaths are quick and shallow, my mind spinning. I curl my fingers into the dry dirt. It sticks and clots over my blood-soaked hands, but I don’t care. I cling to it.
Smokey and thick, the air is no more comforting than before. It hurts to breathe in, burning my lungs, but I gulp it in anyway.
“You made it, dear,” he tells me. “You’re very strong, my girl.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” I whisper.
“Trust me. You are.”
