The voice in his mind came like a whisper, only it made his heart burn and tingle. It was a woman’s voice. A Dryad? It sounded . . . was it Neodesha?
Annon turned the direction he had heard the voice. Through the mist in the shadow of a burly oak tree, he saw a small cave made from the exposed roots of the tree. Inside that cave, he saw two burning eyes carved into stone. Eyes carved into stone? He remembered Basilides, having seen larger monuments placed there to warn away intruders, also with glowing eyes.
Tyrus gripped Annon’s arm. “Do you see her?”
Annon turned to look at him. “What?”
“What are you staring at?” Tyrus asked, his face awash with conflicting emotions. “Do you see her? The woman by the tree?”
Annon looked back at the tree, only seeing the glowing eyes.
Annon.
“Fools learn from experience. I prefer to learn from the experience of others.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXI
The pain in Paedrin’s middle was excruciating. Hettie had stuffed her cloak against the wound, but it was crimson and blood oozed from her fingers. He was so lightheaded that he collapsed in a swoon.
“No!” Hettie shrieked. “Paedrin, wake up. Wake up!”
He heard her voice and roused himself, opening his eyes. He felt Khiara’s fingers pressing into his shoulder.
“I’m awake,” he moaned through clenched teeth. “Hettie . . . I’m fading.” He felt he was out of breath. Each gasp was painful. His vision swam with colors, but the edges were fringed in black and seemed to close in. His body convulsed.
“No,” she said tremulously. “Stay with me. You can’t leave me here. Khiara, hurry!”
Another set of flapping wings came from above, claws slashing at Hettie’s shoulders and hair. She screamed in pain and rage and unleashed the fireblood like a shield above them, blasting the creatures to ash, keeping a steady stream of flame from her hands.
Paedrin’s heart shuddered with pain. He wanted to speak to her, to soothe her. He blinked, trying to gaze at her one last time. There were tears running down her cheeks. Her expression was fierce and full of wrath as she sent flames at the Cockatrice.
Khiara rocked back and forth, trying to remain conscious as she attempted to heal his mortal wound. She murmured a Vaettir prayer, singing to his soul as it began to slip away from his body. Her words were coaxing, pleading him to stay.
“Hettie . . .” he whispered, feeling his last breath slip away from his body, feeling the weight of his flesh sinking into the earth like a mother’s embrace.
She turned to gaze down on him, her eyes widening with shock. The flames sputtered in her hands and died. “No,” she moaned, shaking her head with disbelief. “No!”
Paedrin closed his eyes, unable to bear the look of her grief.
“I see no one,” Annon murmured. “But there is a stone at the base of the tree. It causes the mist.”
“Ah,” Tyrus said. “A spirit trapped there. Free it, and the mist will depart and the beast will be vulnerable. Go, Annon. Quickly!”
“Give me the Tay al-Ard, Tyrus,” Kiranrao said in a threatening tone.
“You cannot have it,” Tyrus answered vehemently.
The Druidecht glanced at the Romani, his face screwed up with fury and rage. There was a look bordering on madness in Kiranrao’s eyes. Annon backed away from him swiftly and then ran to the tree. He saw the stone, carved into a human face with a look of sorrow. The eyes glowed white against the rock, not brightly—he would not have even noticed it if the whispers hadn’t drawn his gaze that way.
Annon hunkered down next to the roots and reached into the small cave. The stone was heavy, the size of a bread loaf but weighing enough that he struggled to lift it out. As soon as his hands touched it, he heard the Fear Liath’s roar. The stone was suddenly cold in his hands, so cold it burned. He nearly dropped it and hissed in pain. His skin was turning gray before his eyes. Instantly, he summoned the fireblood and sent the flames pulsing into the stone, filling it with fire and heat. He struggled against its weight and the biting coldness. His hands were scorching with the cold, mixed with fire. Smoke rose from the stone and livid flecks began to seethe inside the rock. He channeled magic into the rock, trying to free the spirit trapped inside.