5. Katrin

Chapter 5

Katrin

T his was a terrible plan.

Two hours into my journey, I was hot, lost, and brutally reminded that the most physical activity I'd done in the last five years was walking the gardens with mother before tea.

I had half a mind to hitch a ride on the next passing carriage. There were only two problems. First, I had no idea where I was going, and, second, the roads were empty.

Father's book had been vague on the details surrounding the Ferrier. I knew only that I needed to stand at a crossroads after dark and offer two coppers to the wind—whatever that meant.

I came to an intersection and stopped. Was this the crossroads I was meant to find? How was one to know?

It looked like any other connecting road. All around me lay overgrown meadows that stretched to distant hills in the east. Far to the west lay Gwyad Forest, the solitary tree at my back a mockery of its expansive arbors. The roads themselves were nothing but packed dirt trails carved by frequent travel. If I looked closely, I could trace the various marks made by foot, hoof, and cart wheel.

I shivered despite the oppressive heat and burrowed deeper into my cloak. Though lightning coursed through my veins, my eyelids grew heavy. I fought the urge to sit as my throbbing feet joined with my aching back, each providing a convincing counterargument that grew harder to ignore with every step. If I sat, sleep would claim me, and I didn't know if I would rouse again. I'd been waging war for eight years, and this was my last stand. Tonight, I would either leave with the Ferrier or wait for Death to claim me.

The full moon painted the landscape in cool, muted tones, the eerie picture accompanied by an unnatural silence that pricked at my nerves. It was only magnified by the absence of the bluebell's ringing. Not a single animal sang their nocturnal song. There were no howling wolves or hooting owls. Not even a single cricket chirped among the tall grasses.

The stagnant air felt like the calm before a storm. I resisted the urge to remove my cloak as sweat beaded on my brow and drew winding paths between my breasts. I hadn't changed from my dinner clothes and regretted every bit of clinging silk and itchy lace. Covering myself had become second nature, but it was still an effort not to strip down to my chemise. As freeing as it might have been to greet the Reaper as a harlot, I didn't need him getting the wrong idea about my proposition.

My vision blurred. I pressed a hand to my stomach like it could calm the roiling within. Digging through my satchel, I pulled out a canteen and took a deep swig. The tepid water did little to calm the unease churning in my gut, but it did stop the world from spinning long enough for me to stumble over to the lone tree. I leaned my back against its solid trunk, wishing I could find the relief of its shade during the dead of night. Instead, I pressed my palms against the rough bark to ground me as I breathed in and out, willing my nausea to recede.

A welcome breeze kissed my flushed skin, and I sighed in gratitude at the short respite. Goosebumps rose along my arm as the wind snaked through my sweat-soaked clothes. The leaves rustled overhead and I closed my eyes, allowing their symphony to calm my growing anxiety.

A sudden gust swept through the clearing, whipping my hair in all directions. I squeezed my eyes tighter as strands stung my cheeks. My cloak flapped wildly around me, but under the cacophony, my ears latched onto something other.

Hoofbeats.

My eyes snapped open. Turning my head from side to side, I sought the source of the sound that had fallen abruptly quiet.

The wind raged around me, shaking loose the leaves of the tree. They danced in a never-ending whirlwind that pulled me in all directions.

With all the grace of a newborn deer, I wrangled what I could of my hair, holding it in one fist at the base of my head. I scanned the roads, searching for the approaching party, but not even an echo remained to hint at their whereabouts.

On impulse, my eyelids fluttered shut and the sound returned immediately. Closer now, as though they had never disappeared, a team of horses raced toward me.

Again, I looked out, only to find the roads once again silent and empty.

The wind was now a tempest, forceful and mighty. It urged me into motion, pushing me until I stumbled away from the tree. The gale carried me to the middle of the crossroads and held me firmly in place.

Against every instinct, I closed my eyes. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and I wobbled on unsteady legs. My heartbeat matched the erratic rhythm of the horses' gallop. Gravel crunched beneath hoof and wheel. If I had to guess, I'd wager there were four horses pulling a carriage, and all the while, the persistent wind tore at my hair and clothes.

My mind urged me to flee, but the wind would not relent.

The Ferrier walked between worlds, this I knew. I had come to the place where the lands of the living and the dead were said to merge to meet him as he made his crossing, but I never expected that he would arrive unseen. It was a weakness I couldn't afford, not as his invisible steeds raced straight for me.

I thought back to all I knew of the Ferrier. None of the legends had mentioned this, though maybe the veil would lift as he closed in.

Squinting through one eye, I peeked toward the direction of the horses.

Still nothing.

I huffed out a breath, certain I was missing some key piece of information. My time was running out until the horses were upon me.

Perhaps this was my death that had been foretold all those years ago. Would he pass me by, or was I always doomed to die trampled by unseen steeds? Had I unwittingly walked into fate's hands just as I endeavored to escape it?

At that moment, I wished I'd remained the pawn—that I could wipe my hands of all the poor decisions that had led me here.

Only Death called the Ferrier, and only to Death would he answer. He came for all souls, and each paid a price.

A price.

My hands raced over the knot at my satchel. Though my fingers were clumsy, I managed to open the bag as the galloping reached a crescendo. I thrust my arm in, blindly patting around, unwilling to risk opening my eyes and losing the only knowledge I had of their approach. I found the two small objects and squeezed them tight.

Trembling from head to toe, I willed strength into my arm and raised it toward the invisible party. No matter how hard I tried, the coins remained clenched within my fist.

The hoofbeats grew louder, more insistent, their tempo increasing like an execution drum, tolling the last seconds of my life. They were nearly upon me, so close I could hear their ragged breaths.

I braced for the impact but finally managed to pry my fingers open, throwing the coins forward.

The phantom horses halted.

Even the wind stopped, the chill on my skin the last remaining evidence of its existence. My ears rang in the absence of such noise, the silence pierced only by the dull thud of my two coins hitting the ground.

I exhaled, my whole body deflating in relief, though my heart continued to race with the knowledge that I was not yet out of danger.

A blast of hot air teased my still outstretched hand, and I cracked one eye open, jumping back at the sight of the massive black horse before me. Three others accompanied the beast, each as large and imposing as the first.

But none held a candle to the wicked creature holding the reins.