Trial by Fire

“I’m sorry, Lily,” he said out loud, as if being quiet was of no use anymore.

A chorus of screeching howls erupted outside at the sound of Rowan’s voice. Lily heard the shuffling and crunching of thousands of frozen leaves being plowed aside as the many-legged creatures scurried into position around the cabin. Their armored appendages began scraping at the shuttered windows and scrabbling up the sides of the stone walls.

“We have to do something,” Rowan shouted over the sudden cacophony. His face was pleading with hers. “Something that you’re not ready for. Something that probably won’t even work because you don’t have a willstone, but if we don’t try, we’re both going to die.”

“Okay,” Lily shouted back, her voice breaking with panic. “Whatever it is, just do it.”

One of the Woven outside began to throw itself against the entrance, trying to ram it down. The thuds of its body against the door and the sound of its frustrated wails boomed through the little cabin. Rowan picked his knife off the floor and stowed it in the sheath at his belt. He threw the rest of the spare wood onto the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney in a plume of ash and smoke. The creatures on the roof squealed as if the sudden upwelling of heat had burned them.

“Sit here,” he said, placing Lily on the hearthstones right in front of the roaring flames. He pulled off his linen shirt. His bare skin picked up the light of the fire and seemed to blaze like copper.

He looked down at Lily, the wails of the Woven bearing down on them from all sides. Lily saw him clench his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment. Then he shook out his hands and puffed his breath like he was preparing to plunge into icy water. He knelt in front of Lily, leaning close to her. His eyes were wide and bright with terror.

“Touch my willstone,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his throat. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost like he was praying. “And please don’t hurt me.”

Lily looked at Rowan’s willstone, dancing with inner light, and felt as if she was falling toward it. Her panic disappeared. The cacophony silenced. The whole world cupped itself around the one, gorgeous point hanging from Rowan’s bared throat.

She’d meant to touch his stone gently, hardly brushing it with a feather-soft caress, but before she could control herself, her hand shot out greedily and grabbed it.

Mine.

Rowan gasped and shook as if she’d strummed an open nerve, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Lily please,” he begged, his voice high and breathy.

She wanted to swallow his stone, or squeeze it so tightly it ground into her skin and buried itself in between her bones. She heard Rowan moan. She was hurting him. She forced herself to relax her grip until the stone rested lightly in her palm. It was warm and it pulsed, like a living, beating part of Rowan.

“So beautiful,” Lily said, and sighed. Her breath blew over the stone and Rowan shivered.

“Look into it. Find my stone’s rhythm.” He stopped and panted. “Find my pat—”

Lily could feel his willstone pulsing in her palm. The lights rippled like waves and flashed like particles at the same time. Lily felt a vibration all through her—one particular frequency that felt like a single, rich note played on her body as if she were an instrument. She memorized it and locked its copy away inside her. It was the rhythm of Rowan’s mind inside this particular stone. She played that rhythm back to his stone and the room around her changed.