Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

WREN

Finn slung Wren up across the saddle in front of him. Dancer galloped across the open ground like a streak of shadow given solid form.

The knight bent low over her, urging the horse on, through the edge of the lake in a spray of water and back into the trees on the far side.

The sound of pursuit was unmistakable. The horsemen from Ilanthus crashed through the undergrowth, their mounts screaming in protest as they were driven on.

Wren tried to catch her breath but everything swirled around her, the shadows surging in her head made it all feel wrong. She couldn't focus, couldn't control any of it. Her body burned, ached and all she could think of – stupidly – was Finn's nearness, his body pressed to hers, keeping her on the horse. Behind them, the forest snarled and shivered like a wild beast and the shadows inside it awoke.

This was bad. Really bad. She remembered Elodie's warnings far too late now. If you call to the fragments of the Nox in the darkwood, it will always answer, little bird, but it won't always do what you want. You could lose yourself, like so many have been lost. Never reach for the dark.

But Elodie had never really understood. It wasn't so much reaching for the darkness. It was always there, always trying to get to her. She fought to keep it away. Sometimes she just let down those walls, just for an instant.

This time had been different though. This time she hadn't just allowed it in, she had demanded it come to her, serve her, help her…

And when she did… a spear of desire dug deep inside her, twisting, a pleasure cutting along the edge of agony. Give in , it seemed to tell her, singing to her in that voice that seemed like a lullaby. Just give in and it would be everything.

Wren struggled for reality. She had to get a grip on herself, on the world as it was. Not on this swirl of ungovernable emotion.

Dancer's muscles strained beneath her, and sweat stood out on his skin. The smell was raw in her nostrils. Behind her, Finn was a knot of tense muscles, entirely fixed on escape, guiding the horse through the trees. But one false move, one unseen obstacle or ditch, and it would be over.

Wren closed her eyes, fought for equilibrium and turned the shadows back, forcing up her barriers again, shutting herself off. It was agony. A conscious severing of something so intrinsically part of herself. Tears burned in her eyes.

Everything slowed. It wanted her to release her control, to give in to it. That was all it had ever wanted. For her to be part of it, to let it into her mind. She felt the darkwood still reaching for her, its voice soothing.

No, not the wood, not the forest. This was the darkness itself, the darkness that lurked beneath, the shadows she turned aside, the shades she heard whispering in the night. It was everywhere.

Those who gave themselves unconditionally to the Nox lived short lives, sunken in every depravity. And the joy of it was absolute, or so they said. If you went to it and made a deal it would give you anything. Or at least that was its promise. Those who had even once felt its touch on their minds, on their bodies, would never be the same. It left its mark, and a ghost of desire that never faded, for which nothing else would ever compensate. Elodie had refused to discuss it, but even in a tiny village like Thirbridge, people talked. Deals could be struck, like whatever arrangement Pol had struck to have a son. But those who gave themselves completely…

And it was calling her. Coming for her. She could feel its touch, like a single fingertip stroking the length of her spine. It sang, it murmured, it whispered.

All she had to do was stop pushing it away. All she had to do was let it in. It would give her everything, every pleasure, every delight. All the power she could imagine.

And as she was fighting, she felt his mind brush against hers. The man with the white hair.

He served the Nox. And he was powerful with its magic. Entwined with its power.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt invisible fingers trace a line across her lips, as she felt his magic brush against hers. He knew where she was.

He was still behind, somewhere, the white-haired man with the fairest of faces. He had pulled back, the better to concentrate on reaching her through enchantment. His men pursued them, but he sat still and alone on the back of his white horse, in a shadow-dark glade, his eyes closed, his lips moving. She could picture him, reaching for her. He wanted her, needed her. His voice was a song of seduction as intimate as that of the shadows she had heard all her life.

No. He couldn't have her. He wouldn't have her.

She opened her eyes, trying to see over Finn's leg, jostled back and forth like a sack of vegetables. His voice still urged Dancer on, a litany of encouragement, determined and desperate. Another kind of song.

And behind them, a wall of night was rising up through the forest.

Blacker than midnight, deeper than nightmares, consuming trees and horsemen alike. A great wave of shadows, ready to crest and crash down on them all, swallowing them whole.

No, she whispered, or tried to whisper, as she realised what this meant. But she didn't have the air to make a sound.

Had she done that? How could she have done that?

She couldn't drive it back on her own. She wasn't strong enough, not without Elodie. There was no way she could stop it. Not when it contained all the shadows she had pulled out of the darkwood…

Dancer gave a terrible whinny of alarm. Even with the greatest training in the world and the most valiant heart, the stallion couldn't fight its instincts. It reared up on its hind legs, tried to swing away while Finn fought for control. Something crashed into their backs, the darkness so solid that it flung them forward.

The ground dropped away as the force of magic pushed them over the edge of a ditch or a ravine, or the Aurum alone knew what. And, suddenly, they were all falling.

The forest floor slammed hard into her body and then Finn slammed into her as well.

Just as abruptly everything went still. Far too still.

Darkness rolled over them, silent and terrible, like a blanket above them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

Dancer screamed, not in terror this time but in agony. The noise brought her to her senses so fast her stomach twisted in knots.

She knew that sound. Knew it, had nightmares about it, hated it. That was the sound of a creature dying, or so close to dying that there was no saving it.

Beside her, Finn moved, his body up and lurching towards the broken body of the stallion before she could do or say anything. She saw him lay his hand on the creature's shivering skin, try to mouth soothing words, but fail. The knife he carried at his belt was in his hand and it flashed once, twice.

Everything went still again. Too still. Too quiet.

She slumped down into the wet mulch at the base of the ravine and heard only the sound of Finn's ragged breath. It echoed around her. From the horse, there was no sound at all.

The fragments of the Nox all around her drank down the death. She felt it surround them both, absorbing Dancer's demise like wine, as she desperately tried to push it back from the two of them. Felt it laugh at her feeble efforts. Then slowly it faded, back into the darkwood, back into the shadows, sated for now.

‘I'm sorry,' Finn whispered, brokenly. Not to her. Those words weren't meant for her ears. She felt like an interloper of the worst kind hearing them. ‘I had to. I just—I had to. I'm so sorry.'

Then he went quiet again, except for that ragged breath.

Wren pulled herself up on shaking hands, and crawled across the forest floor to him.

He'd put the horse out of its misery, but he'd loved Dancer. Every nerve of her being told her that. She reached out to comfort him. This was her fault, all her fault, and she had to?—

A sob broke from her lips when that sensation of hunger swept through her again.

She thought of the moment Finn had kissed her, his lips devouring hers, his mouth hot and ravenous, his hands on her skin. She wanted to tangle her hands in his hair and pull him to her and?—

Not now. Not here. She shied back, horrified with the thoughts.

Not like this.

What kind of monster was the Nox trying to make of her? Revolted, she forced it away, trying to raise a shield of light as Elodie had taught her. All that she managed was a shaky barrier, barely a circle, but it was enough. The othertongue came thick and haltingly to her lips, but she forced herself to say the words, to drive back the darkness. Somehow she succeeded.

The desire the dark magic engendered in her slid away, making her feel broken and nauseous.

If he hadn't come back. If he hadn't tried to help her?—

Wren gave a sob of despair and curled in on herself. The shadows swept by them and she clung to any fragile light she could muster. The witchhunters were still looking for her. For both of them. Finn had said as much.

She should have just run. Hidden. Why hadn't she done what she had always been told?

‘Are you hurt?' It was Finn's voice.

Everything hurt. Everything.

Shaking and clearly afraid, but somehow still strong, his hands closed under her shoulders, lifting her. He didn't even know her name and he was still trying to help. What sort of man did that? For no reason, trying to help because it was the right thing to do. What sort of man?—

‘Stay with me. Can you hear me? It's all going to be fine. We just have to—we just have to?—'

It wasn't going to be fine. Nothing was. And she had no idea what he thought they just had to do…

Wren's strength, such as it was, gave out, and she slumped down into the darkness in her own unconscious mind. She welcomed it.