Page 9 of Soul of Thorns
“Can I see the map again?” I ask Rev. Unlike me, Rev had the chance to study these lands in as much detail as was available. Admittedly, the information is limited. There have been very few “expeditions” into this part of our world, and wraiths are not very forthcoming. They do seem to know a hell of a lot, though, which is incredibly annoying.
They know all our secrets but won’t tell useful information until it pleases them. I wrinkle my nose as I think of my wraith...friend.I don’t even know what to call him.
The son of the last Shadow Court High King and my great, great, great, great—whatever—grandfather, hasn’t been around since I refused to abandon Rev to claim my heritage as the rightful queen of the Shadow Court.
“You’ve studied the map non-stop the last two days. There’s nothing more to see.”
I purse my lips, knowing he’s right, but even so, staring at the spread of this terrible place makes it easier to swallow. Easier than facing the crumbling pile of rocks we’re supposed to hike through.
There could be faster and less expected routes to reach the center, but from everything we’ve learned about this place, most of the terrain is next to impossible to survive—except for the one pathway built into it. The Bog of Bones was meant to be avoided—follow the rocks outside of the sewage-y swamp and the zombie bones won’t bother you. The Forest of Desires had a clear pathway straight down the middle. The images inside the trees would tempt travelers to veer off so they could capture them with their clawing tree arms and suck their souls dry. I absently press my hand to my back. That wasn’t a pleasant feeling. The wound still aches, more so than the wound in my stomach from wraith-Reahgan.
Have I mentioned my time in the Schorchedlands hasn’t been very pleasant? Cause it hasn’t.
Now, we have two and a half miles of mountains to traverse before we reach the wall of flames. The fae who built our cottage never traveled past the wall of fire. He didn’t know how to get past it. Which, of course, bodes well for us now.
Only one known living being has passed all the way into the Schorchedlands, and he’s basically a legend. No one knows the details. They just know he hid a spell book there. A spell book that can reverse the cursed plague spreading over the fae realm.
Without our wraith escorts, both of whom we’ve alienated by choosing not to kill each other—wraiths, apparently, aren’t the most romantically inclined beings— we’re flying dark. We’ll have to work together to pass this new magical obstacle.
The hills are generally quiet this time of the day. Wraiths aren’t fans of the light. Even though it’s dull and hazy, they avoid the sun at all costs. I had been surprised at how little they’ve bothered us these last few days considering the Night Terror put a bounty on us. But now our recent wraith visitors tell me there is a very specific reason for that.
I just haven’t figured out what that is yet.
Rev stops, holding out a hand to halt my movement. “Did you hear that?” he whispers.
Soft shuffling and scraping sound around the next bend. There is one large rocky hill standing between us and... something. Likely not wraiths since they float.
Were we in the fae realm or even on Earth, I’d guess it was a herd of animals. Deer or wolves most likely. But we are not in the land of the living any longer.
There are several different kinds of creatures in this place, wraiths being the most common. But there are also undead animals in various stages of decay. Some look almost like living creatures with greyed skin and open black wounds and the occasional exposed bone. Others are entirely skeletal with flesh just barely clinging to their bones in patches. But even so, the birds squawk, the bears roar and sprint and claw-like any other bear. I don’t know how they’re living or what made them this way.
Everything here wants to kill us. Including the passing birds that soar overhead.
“What should we do?” I ask. We know wraiths are likely following us, and if we face a group of zombified animals, we’ll be forced to fight and will certainly bring attention to ourselves.
“We move forward cautiously.”
“If we have to fight something... the wraiths will find us.”
Rev nods slowly. “But there isn’t another choice. We can’t turn back now.”
I bite my lip. He’s right. I nod in concession but hold up one finger. “Let me handle it. My magic is less likely to catch unwanted attention.”
Rev purses his lips but then nods in agreement. “Have fun,” he says, waving his hand to usher me forward with a flick of his eyebrow. My stomach twists pleasantly as I meet his eye. Sick joy spreads through me at the thought of unleashing my awaiting magic.Use me, it seems to imply.
The memory washes through me—when I claimed my enemy’s power as my own. When I murdered Rev’s brother and completed the Night Bringer’s “impossible” bargain. I won that game, a decade ago. And the Night Bringer’s magic became mine.
I shiver at the pleasure that washes through me.
Killing feels good. That’s a truth I learned a long time ago. A truth that haunts me daily.
I stretch my fingers, working to keep my mind in order. My power can unleash—it can rage on our enemies—but it will never own me.
You are mine,I remind it.
It doesn’t respond, though I hadn’t expected it to. Once, that foreign magic could speak to me, instruct me. But the moment I succeeded in my bargain with the Night Bringer, it quieted and submitted to my rule. It hasn’t spoken since that day.
I lick my lips and then march toward the unknown enemies around the bend.
