“I know.” And I do. I glance down into the darkness, unable to see anything beyond my feet. The drop must be at least fifty feet. Maybe something will break my fall on the way down.
“Don’t even think about it.” Eamon’s fingers tighten. My gaze rises to meet his as a hulking shadow appears over his shoulder.
“You have to let me go,” I cry, prying against his hold. “I’ll be fine.”
Eamon’s nostrils flare. His arms have already begun to quiver under my weight. With or without the wolf’s presence, he won’t be able to hold me much longer. “You’re insane. You can’t survive that.”
I tighten my grip around the roots, testing my weight. The tree shifts and I look back up at him. “Do it.”
My heart freezes when his fingers tighten their grip. The coppery scent of blood seeps from the pack leader’s fangs as he appears next to Eamon’s ear. A feral snarl rises from its throat.
“Let go!” I scream. The wolf’s hackles rise as it crouches low, ready to attack. Eamon doesn’t look to the side. “Please,” I beg.
“No!” I toss out my hand as the wolf attacks. A pained yelp echoes in my ears as it hurtles backward and out of sight. I hear crunching of bone followed by a chorus of howls.
“Illyria?”
I’m shaking, consumed with protective anger. My fingers curl inward as I feel myself slip and my terror rushes back in.
“Don’t let go!” Eamon latches onto me as the final inches of the roots slip through my fingertips. The tree groans as it plummets over the edge. A rain of dirt and snow follow.
I swing wildly, screaming as my stomach rushes to beat the tree to the ground below. Vertigo immobilizes me as Eamon struggles to pull me over the edge, using both of his hands just to keep me from tumbling into the ravine.
“Help me,” he rasps. I reach up and clasp his forearm. “See if you can get your leg up here.”
My fingers dig into his flesh as I throw my torso to the left and jerk back right. All I manage to do is get a mouthful of earth. “Again, Illyria.”
His command spurns me on. I spit to clear my mouth as I rock. The tip of my shoe just misses the ledge. I swing back again, stretching my foot out, and my ankle hits snow.
My hold on the cliff is precarious at best, but with Eamon’s help, I manage to hoist myself up. I lie in the snow, sucking deep gulps of night air into my lungs. My pulse hammers wildly in my ears. I smile as the howling grows faint as the wolves retreat.
Eamon collapses beside me. I can hear his labored breathing over my own. “Next time we’re bringing the guns.”
Eight
The next two days are just as maddeningly strenuous as the first we endured after entering the woods. Eamon keeps a solid lead ahead of the pack while I amble at the back, ever on alert in case the wolves return. We’ve heard their braying in the distance, but they haven’t ventured close to us since I killed their leader. All of us carry our guns at the ready, just in case.
The alpha wolf provided us with the meat that we needed to continue on. The gamey flesh made me sad as I slowly ate it, reminding me of the times Eamon would bring me bits of roasted meat while in the caves, knowing I would turn my nose up at it. Now, he hardly showed a reaction as he skinned and gutted the fallen animal.
None of us talk much. Losing Arlo has been a grim reminder of the reality of our situation. Caldonians may not patrol these woods anymore, but the dangers are still present. Even Carleon has taken the hint and has fallen into a sullen silence.
Despite Eamon’s threats that if I didn’t heal myself he would send me straight back to Kyan, we continue to trek through the wilderness. From time to time, we spy a campfire off in the distance, but we stay clear, sometimes going miles out of our way to do so. We avoid towns, abandoned roads, and farms that we come across, sticking with the rugged wilderness for safety.
My feet are a mess of blisters. I tried to tough it out for the first few days, but when my limp became prominent, Carleon insisted on healing me. I tried to wave off his concerns, but as his healing warmth flowed over my pockmarked feet, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to be whole again.
The sore flesh around my waist has scabbed over nicely now that I’m no longer wearing my pack. After a rather irate tantrum on my part, which I’ll admit to not being entirely proud of, Eamon allowed me to carry one of the lighter sling packs that hangs below my waist so it doesn’t hurt.
I could have healed myself, but I chose not to. Not just to spite Eamon, but to prove to myself that I’m tough enough to endure this trip. If I can’t handle a four-day hike, how can I even think I can handle the full scope of my mission?