After resting, they started the treacherous descent into the canyon separating them from another vast mountain. The woods engulfed them again, full of trees and startled deer, foxes, and gray wolves. The air grew colder, and the daylight was dappled by a permanent haze hanging over the mountains.
Erasmus led the way, for each path and fork needed to be studied. Without his assistance, they would have been hopelessly lost. Annon kept close to him, listening for the warnings of spirits, uneasy because of the fearful aura surrounding them. The spirits were timid here. Some barely acknowledged his presence, and that concerned him even more.
“Drosta was a Cruithne, wasn’t he?” Annon asked.
Erasmus muttered his response. “He was.”
“And he lived so distant from the others of his race?”
“Obviously he valued his privacy. He was a Paracelsus. I’m sure you knew that.”
Annon nodded. “Did the Plague take him?”
“No. I’ve heard said he was killed by a bear. Or something worse. A Finder discovered his bones searching for him. There were claw marks.”
Annon swallowed, gazing into the gloom of the trail before them.
The afternoon began to wane, but it was difficult to judge how much daylight would be left. The canyon was steep and the footing rocky and loose at times. Sometimes the trailhead was so narrow that they could only pass one at a time. Brush scraped and scratched at them. The air was fragrant with the aromas of the woods, but there was a sourness in the smell, of things decayed and dying.
As they approached the bottom of the canyon, they were alerted to the sound of a waterfall, hidden in the trees ahead. The sound made Annon thirsty, and he suggested they refill their water there.
Erasmus stood and shrugged. “It cannot be that far.”
“I will go,” Annon offered. “Give me your water skins.” He collected them all and started into the thin copse of woods, angling his way toward the sound. The ground was rocky and rose slightly. He huffed a bit, trying to quicken his step to get there and back. The woods ahead were full of haze from the waterfall. It did not sound like one of the mammoth ones they had seen, but it was sizable enough to be heard. As he drew nearer, an ominous feeling nagged at his stomach.
He was not that far from his companions. They were nearby. Surely there was nothing wrong in seeking water. He continued his pace, glancing cautiously as he went. There were no signs of animal life as he went.
How strange. This deep into the canyon, there should be many.
The rush of the waterfall beckoned from ahead. The water would be so cool and refreshing. It would taste so much better than the leathery flavor he was used to. The thought of it made his mouth water. He was tired and weary. Soaking his feet in the pool would be a relief.
As he advanced, the trees began shimmering in the mist. Even the sunlight was masked by the mist. There were no shadows.
Annon stopped short, hesitating. He yearned for the rush of water, to taste it and enjoy it. Why stop when he was so near? Would he return empty-handed to the others? Was he afraid of something?
Fear.
Annon felt its presence trickle down his back. He was afraid. His palms were sweaty and not from the arduous hike down into the canyon. A tremor went through his stomach, leaving a salty taste in his mouth. A shiver.
Fear.
It was foolish and irrational to fear a waterfall. Why hesitate? It would only be a moment and the flasks would be full. Then he would return to his companions and laugh at himself for being such a fool.
For being such a fool.
Annon swallowed. Why had he not sensed the presence of any spirits since arriving in the belly of the canyon? Always before, if there was danger, they warned a Druidecht of it. He alone could hear their thoughts. And he realized that he was hearing the thoughts of a spirit. Not the frantic whispers of a tree spirit or a thrush spirit. He was hearing the luring thoughts of something even more deadly and powerful.
It was the Fear Liath itself.
It recognized his change in attitude. His wavering indecision. A wave of dread struck him like a hammer to a post, driving his feet into the ground so that he could not move. It was paralyzing fear, wave after wave of dread and anguish. He could not move, only stare at the mesmerizing mists. That was its lair, of course.
Was it not a principle for hunters to watch places frequented by their prey? Treasure hunters seeking Drosta’s lair were probably more frequent than rare. They were the Fear Liath’s prey.
Annon tried to run, but he could not move. His mind clouded with terror. The Fear Liath was hidden within the falls. It was coming for him. It would kill him.
No!
He screamed the thought at it, trying to master himself. It was an emotion. There was nothing holding him back. He could move his limbs. He could breathe. He could run.