He disappears again. In my ear, quiet as a moth’s wings, Cotton says, “Girl pretty,” and I want to make myself into a grenade and pull the pin.
Ten feet below me, Daryn is saying something over and over under her breath.
I think it’s “Where are you?”
If she looked up, she’d have her answer.
If she turned the other way and walked thirty paces, she’d see the pond and Riot.
She doesn’t do either.
Her Where are yous stop. She goes quiet, like she’s thinking.
Quickly, she removes the orb from the backpack again and darts to the trunk of the tree, pushing the orb into the hollow of a knot. Then she jogs away and ties a scarf she finds inside her backpack around the branch of a nearby tree, marking it, looking between the two.
All of this without ever seeing me.
Then she zips up her pack and waits.
Samrael comes back a couple of minutes later towing a Harrow. The creature is in a similar state as me. Knife to throat. Mouth covered. Forcibly restrained.
Cotton begins to purr almost imperceptibly by my ear.
“Yell or make a sound and you will cease to exist.” Samrael removes his hand from the Harrow’s mouth. “Tell her about the rider with the red horse.”
The Harrow turns empty eyes on Daryn. “Rider and fire horse escape.”
Daryn stifles a gut-wrenching sound. “Where?” she says. “When?”
“In woods,” the Harrow says. “In trees.”
Daryn asks again and again, but the reply never changes.
I want to yell that I’m in the tree. Right now, right up here.
“I’m sorry, Daryn,” Samrael says, “but we can’t stay here. Go. I’ll deal with this. I’ll be right behind you.” The Harrow in his grasp will need to be silenced; otherwise it’ll wake the others. Silenced, in this case, probably means killed.
Daryn whirls and runs. Bolts, like she’s trying to escape feeling.
Samrael releases the Harrow and sheathes his blade. “Back to the others,” he says. “Go.”
The creature shrinks away like a punished dog.
Samrael looks up, right at me. “No luck finding the rider and his burning horse. Such a shame.”
Even if I could speak, there would be nothing to say.
We’re past words. Now there are only two outcomes. Life and death.
One for each of us.
“Tree, look inside,” says Cotton. “Look in hole of tree?”
Samrael sees the knot. He reaches inside and removes the orb.
“Clever girl, isn’t she?” He slips it into the pocket of his coat. “Bring him,” he says to the Harrow pinning me. “I want him there tonight.”
CHAPTER 33
DARYN
“Daryn?” Samrael says, pulling me out of my daze. “We’ll walk from here.”
We’ve been riding for hours. They blur together. I can’t remember any of them clearly. It was dusk for an instant as we left the Harrows. Then it was night and the fog rolled in—through the woods and inside my mind.
It makes me wonder if I’ve totally peeled away from reality.
I think I might have.
Gideon is still out there. I have to find him.
The need feels like an urgent siren wailing inside me, but I have to be smart about this. Samrael said he has resources at Gray Fort. People who can help in the search and increase the odds of finding him. I have to accept the help. Anything to find Gideon.
How is it that I’m still searching for people I love?
“It’ll be easier if you dismount first,” Samrael adds, since I’m still not moving.
I jump down and land with a jarring thud, my teeth slamming together.
Every part of me feels leaden. Cold. Hard.
Samrael, on the other hand, dismounts with fluid ease. He pats the mare’s rump. “Home,” he says. She trots away, her gray coat disappearing into the fog.
Samrael paces away slowly, staring at the ground. He stops. He comes down on his heels and brushes dirt and leaves aside, revealing an iron handle. A wooden door is set flush to the forest floor.
Out here.
I’d never have found it in these woods. Not in a million years. I’d never have even expected to find it.
I walk over, fear seeping through my faded mind as I remember falling through the ground in the haunting with Gideon.
The iron hardware groans as Samrael lifts the trapdoor, leaves and dirt tumbling off. The earth exhales a cool breath that brushes across my cheeks. It smells musty, like wet stone, and faintly of decay.
“There are Harrows all over this area,” he explains. A torch flickers below. Its light pours up uneven stone steps. “We use secret entrances, a different one every time. Otherwise they’d wait in ambush and we’d never be able to leave—or return.”
He offers his hand to help me down. I don’t take it.
I pull in a breath and step down.
It feels like descending into literal doom. The air wilts in my lungs. Sounds flatten. The steps are so narrow I have to turn my feet sideways.
At the bottom, a long corridor stretches before me. Stone walls. Stone floors and ceiling. Lamps at regular distances create small pools of light, breaking the overwhelming darkness. The flames wave wildly as Samrael shuts the door, then stretch tall again.
“Straight ahead.”
Is he kidding? There’s nowhere to go except straight ahead.
As we walk I become conscious of Samrael’s nearness behind me—which is odd. I’ve shared a saddle with him for hours. But here there’s nowhere for me to run, and a scream would go nowhere.
Who would I call for help, anyway? Harrows?
I think of the knife in my backpack. In my mind, I practice how I’ll use it if my fears come true.
Why am I afraid? He needs me to leave the Rift. Hurting me wouldn’t help him get what he wants.
The silence bears down on me, a weight pressing on my ears. It’s more oppressive than the damp air or the darkness. “Why do you want to leave here? I thought this was what you wanted. To come into this place.”
“It was,” he replies behind me. “This is what Ra’om forced me to want. But I’ve changed. There is no finding peace or fulfillment here. Being here is a continuous trial. Perhaps you’ve noticed that yourself.”
I have noticed, but I don’t want to talk about me. “Why did you spare Bas when the two of you first came into the Rift?”
“We don’t need to discuss this now. There’s plenty of time for it later.”
“I want to discuss it now.”
“The easiest answer to communicate is curiosity. I’ve known many humans. Few are as guileless and good.”
His answer is uttered with a trace of frustration.
“You spared his life because you found him interesting?”