Page 43 of The Crown of Moonlight
The woods are quiet with the stillness of peaceful sleep.
Then the darkness stirs.
Two long shadows separate themselves from the trees and glide towards us, too impossibly thin to be human, but growing more solid as they approach.Their eyes glow blue in pale, nearly transparent faces that have no other features.They look directly at me and incline their heads.
Their appearance is terrifying, but I don’t feel fear.Why don’t I?
My heart stays steady.I’m calm because that’s what I feel from them.
There’s something solemn and dignified about them—something reverent and at the same time, familiar.
Whether Chyr feels it too, or senses something else, he lifts his head and looks directly at them.He gives them a nod of acknowledgement, and they nod back.Then they return to watching me.
Chyr braces a hand on the ground to steady himself and pushes to his feet.
“Let’s find the swords and go,” he says, his breath rough.
As if we’re of no further interest to them, the two shadows turn their attention to the grave.Unmoving and silent, they stand as though they’re keeping vigil.
Chapter 19
Graves and Guardians
Flora
I
‘ve never seen a ghost.Can immortals have ghosts?Would they look like this, or are the two haunting figures something else?
It doesn’t seem like the right moment to ask Chyr such questions, so I concentrate on digging up the three swords I buried.I hand them to him, and he slides the sword with the pommel of yellow crystal into the empty scabbard at his belt, and replaces the swords crossed over his back with those that belonged to the other two Riders.
We bury the Grey’s weapons in the same place, covered with soil and leaves and marked with another rock.Faolan will know where they’re buried in case they’re needed.Then we mount Eira once again.
The Sacred Wood is thick with mist and darkness as we cross the ridge.It’s senseless to miss Ari and his capricious temper, but as I loosen the reins to let Eira and Bramble pick their way through the roots and slippery moss down to the military road, I can’t help myself.I miss everyone and everything I’ve lost and left behind, and we haven’t yet left the boundaries of Dunhaelic.
We reach the military road before dawn, when the sky is already growing lighter and the night is at its coldest.The horses send clouds of breath into the air, their hooves crunching on flakes of frost.
I turn west and set Eira into a canter.Chyr’s weight leans heavier against my back.Maybe it was seeing the grave and the ghosts that took the rest of his strength, but I suspect there simply wasn’t enough reserve in him to travel yet.His thighs and chest feel too warm against mine, and whenever I shift in the saddle, he exhales as if it costs him.
We have hours to ride before we rest.The time that we remain on Domhnall land will be the safest portion of the journey—and the only chance to ride by daylight.We need to take advantage and cover as much ground as we can.
Once clear of the Sacred Wood, the road slopes downward, and the moor opens wide beneath us.Strangely, it’s here that I feel our departure most.
The story of Lannraig, the seer who came too close to the Veil and let the magic destroy her, warns that magic is a trap.I can’t help feeling that whatever waits for me is already set and baited, and I’m riding towards it like a lamb to the slaughter.
Here, at the end of the Sacred Wood, our path along the military road crosses thebetweens.We’re between wood and field, between night and morning, between everything we left burning at Dunhaelic and whatever waits at Muilean.
The nearer of the two Dunhaelic villages appears ahead, nestled against the hillside.A rim of fields lies scattered around it, and I scan them for movement, though ordinarily, it would be too early yet.
I pull Eira to a halt and jump from the saddle.
“You should ride Bramble until we clear the village,” I say to Chyr.“Can you manage?”
He draws himself up as though the question’s an insult.“Do I need an illusion?”
I look up at him.Dressed as a Highlander, astride one of our horses, he’s still unmistakably what he is.Our warriors can be tall and broad, strong from work and battle.Some wear their hair much like Chyr, shoulder length with the top and sides pulled back into a warrior’s knot.But physical beauty and the weight of his injuries aside, Chyr ismore, as though the extra lifeforce of his immortality is crammed inside him, his strength and magic barely leashed by bone and flesh.
“Can you make yourself look less like…?”
