Dryad-Born(89)

“I will not,” he said curtly. “He is no threat to me. He is hunting you. This is how the Arch-Rike does his work. He goes where the feelings are strongest. You are not safe with this boy.”

“I must see him,” Phae said, grabbing a fistful of his cloak. “He may be a hostage.”

The Kishion smirked. “Then I will free him. Stay down here. Stay hidden.”

Trembling seizures of cold began to shake her and she hugged herself, nodding glumly. He looked up the sharp edge of the ravine and sinuously began to scale the roots and dirt, his arm muscles thick as coiled wagon ropes. He pulled himself up the edge of the ravine, spattering crumbs of dirt and silt down. She crouched nearby, hidden in the shadows, cold and dripping from the plunge into the pond. Her wet hair clung to her face and she brushed it back, trembling uncontrollably.

The Kishion snaked his way up the ravine edge before disappearing past the lip of the ridge. He was silent, but the men above were making plenty of noise. The sound of boots trampling through brush. Voices murmured from above.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Should we go down?”

“There are no boot marks on the other side.” Trasen’s voice. “The floor of the ravine is too dark to see. I’m going down.”

“Don’t be an idiot, boy. You won’t last long against that one. The Quiet Kishion. He’s a killer of children. Sick in the head.”

Another voice. “The ravine goes both ways. Should we trail them both?”

“Where is Heap?”

“What?”

“Where’s Heap? He was over there. I don’t see him.”

Phae could not stop trembling, listening to the sound of their voices. So close. They did not realize how close they were to their prey—or to becoming prey themselves. The mud smelled spoiled and tainted. The air was stifling.

“Heap?”

“How old are these tracks, boy? When did they pass?”

It was Trasen again. “Not long ago, by the look. The marks are fresh. If you shout any louder, Badger, they will hear us coming.”

“What about the girl’s scream? How far away do you think that was?”

“Sounds travel oddly in the woods,” Trasen said. “It sounded like it came from over there. I think we should follow it this way.”

“I saw someone! Over there! A shadow.”

“Heap?”

The sound of running and thrashing from above. Weapons came loose from scabbards. Phae flinched, digging her nails into her hands, stifling her gasp on the back of her fist.

“There! I see…”

“Scatter! Get back to Gorman. Go!”

The sound of a fist striking flesh. A man grunted and collapsed into a mass of fronds. The men were fleeing into the woods, crying out in panic and dread. More noise came as some fell, struck down by a silent attacker in the woods. Phae heard someone scrabbling down the side of the ravine, heard boots splash in the trickle and mud.

“Phae?” Trasen called, charging up the ravine neck. She heard him splashing, heard the muck clinging to his boots as he struggled. A frenzy of emotions whirled inside her. She was desperate to see his face. But what if it was a trick? Conflicting doubts and feelings assailed her, making her heart hammer violently in her ribs. She had to know. She started toward him, shaking with cold, clawing at the mass of dirt along the ravine wall as she stumbled.

Then he was there. Trasen—his curly dark hair, angled face. The look of shock and relief in his eyes brought tears. He recognized her—his expression was one of pure delight and the first embers of hope amidst ashes.

“Phae!” he breathed in triumph, a wide grin splitting his face. He rushed and embraced her, grabbing her with strong arms and pulling her close. He had not bathed in days, it was true, but he still smelled like himself—like home. A muffled sob burst from her chest and she squeezed him hard.

“I need to get you out of here,” he said, pulling back.

“No, Trasen,” she said, shaking her head. “You are the one in danger. Why are you with these men? Who are they?”

“They are hunters. They trap bears. They have special ropes and nets. They’re going to trap the man who abducted you. Now that I’ve found you—”

“No!” Phae cried, pressing her hand against his mouth. “I am here willingly, Trasen. But you have to go. Leave these men. Go back to the Winemillers. Tell them I am safe.”

“Safe?” he said, aghast, his face crinkling with outrage. “Look at you! You were kidnapped by the Arch-Rike’s most—”

Phae clamped her hand over his mouth. “Listen to me! He is my protector. My father is alive. I need to go into the Scourgelands, Trasen. I won’t be…I won’t be coming back. I chose this. No one is forcing me. I can end the Plagues.”