“I don’t need saving.” Bastian picked up a stick and hurled it toward the forest. “I’m going after her.”
“It’s not wise, Bastian,” Fenn said. “You should wait here. You cannot see in the fog like Tressa can with the aid of that owl. Just give her a few days. Hutton’s Bridge isn’t far. It’s possible she can sneak back and get some people out of there quickly. Give her time.”
“This is ridiculous.” Bastian stalked back toward the cottage. He shoved his belongings back into his pack. The same one he’d unpacked the night before.
It was obvious now what he hadn’t noticed earlier. All of Tressa’s things were gone. Her bag, her clothes. It wasn’t much, but her absence now screamed at him. He wanted to kick himself for not noticing before. It would have saved him precious time.
Bastian’s hands shook. She was out there, alone. Well, with that stupid owl, but the bird wouldn’t do anything to help her if that beast came sniffing around again. He kicked the table. Hard. His toe throbbed. He kicked it again. And again until the leg snapped and the table listed to the side.
A knock at the door gave him pause. “Who is it?”
“Your mother. Can I come in?”
He flung the door open. “You can’t talk me out of leaving.”
“I’m not here to do that.” She glanced at the table, but didn’t say a word about it. “I wanted to tell you goodbye. The last time we parted, you were only a small child. I promised I’d come back for you and I didn’t.” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.
Bastian reached out and she slipped into his arms. “It’s okay. Someone had to go every year.”
“I didn’t volunteer. Not like Fenn did.”
He wanted to tell her he knew, but he didn’t. No one would ever talk about his mother after she was gone. It was as if she’d never existed. A year later his father died and his Uncle Adam raised him.
She stepped back and grasped Bastian’s hands. “There’s something I want to show you before you leave.” She pulled up the sleeve of her dress. Three long scars ran the length of it, puckered and silvered with age.
“What gave you those?” He ran a finger along the length of them.
“The beast that hides in the fog. When I crawled out, Fenn found me. He stopped the bleeding, otherwise I might have died.” She slid the sleeve down. “I wanted to show you this to give you hope. I survived. Tressa will too. And you will come back.” She smiled, her eyes hopeful.
“I will. I promise.” Bastian kissed his mother on the top of her head. “I need to leave now, though. I don’t want to waste more time.”
“I understand. I’ll see you again soon, Son.”
Bastian nodded and left the cottage. He took a deep breath and headed through the encampment and into the forest.
***
“They’re both gone now.” Jayne said to Fenn. They had watched Bastian’s back as he entered the forest.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “I don’t think we’ll ever see either of them again.”
“I hope you’re right.” She leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder. “At least the owl didn’t make any noise when I killed it.”
“Haven’t had owl wings for supper in a long time. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Fenn.”
“Oh,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. “Tressa left me a jar of honey.”
Jane’s eyes widened. She blinked. A black slit tore through her blue eyes, changing them to red. She licked her lips with a forked tongue. “We’ve waited many years for this.”
“Our time is about to come.” Fenn smiled and took her into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
His eyelids felt heavy, like small bags of sand held them closed. Slowly, carefully he opened them. A tearing sensation forced tears into the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t stop. With each miniscule movement, he fought to regain his sight and his consciousness.
He knew he’d been out. For how long, he was unsure. He attempted to swallow. The saliva ripped skin on its way down his throat, taking away the sensation of death. Pain was welcome. It screamed in his ear, forcing him to believe he was alive, even though every sense told him he wasn’t.
He remembered dying. The pain. The blood. The last moment he heard anything and the white light that met him at the edge. He’d accepted it.
And now he was breathing again. Not easily, but the wind of life flowed through his body.
He felt his body with a light touch. The blood and flesh that had been stripped away from him so fiercely had healed. His skin was smooth, unblemished, and softer than that of his children.