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I push through the trees, bow raised, but my deer is not alone. Another animal hunches over her. And it hasn’t bothered to kill her before enjoying its meal.
It has the vague shape of some kind of wild boar, but there’s something off about it. Though I can’t quite place what. In the split second it takes me to wonder if it’ll eat just as good as wild boar, the animal senses my presence.
My feet are frozen in place as I watch it slowly stand on its hind legs until it's fully upright. When it turns, a scream tries to claw its way from my lungs, but I swallow it down. Whatever this creature is, I’ve never seen one before.
It’s covered in fur from head to toe, and while the bottom half resembles a wild boar, the top is entirely too human for my liking, with arms too long for its body and claws extending from three thick fingers where hooves should be.
It watches me, blood dripping from the corner of its mouth and matting the fur on its chest. When I take a slow step back, it rips the animal from whatever trance it’s in, and it lunges, mouth parting to reveal razor-sharp teeth stained with the doe’s lifeblood.
I dodge to the left, but I’m too slow, and a long claw catches me in the side, drawing a jagged cut across my stomach from navel to hip. I can’t help the scream that escapes me, and I discard my bow in favor of my dagger. Though I’m not sure how much help it’ll be against a creature like this.
It circles me, moving closer with each revolution, and a shaky breath saws in and out of my lungs. It sizes me up, eyes wild, and I know I won’t make it out of these woods alive if I try to take it on in a fair fight.
Slipping an arrow from my quiver, I lunge forward with enough force to jab it into the creature’s chest and then run as fast as I can as it snarls and snaps.
The fog thickens and I use it to my advantage, shrouding myself in it the deeper I go into the forest. I think I’m heading back toward the village, but it’s hard to tell without any light. If I circle in this direction, I should come up on the main road near the square. It’s quite a walk from there back to the cabin, but at least I won’t be dead.
I hear the beast’s breaths behind me, deep and guttural, muffled by the thick fog and the rapid staccato of my own panting. I’m losing too much blood. My hand is coated in it when I pull it away from my side.
The mist grows thicker and the air colder. So cold it hurts to breathe. Or is that a symptom of the wound? Jagged and weeping. My vision dims, and the hair raises on the back of my neck, but I’m drawn forward toward the smell of woodsmoke and spices.
The smell is familiar, comforting, though I can’t work out why that would be.
A boulder black as midnight juts out of the soil, and a warning signals at the back of my mind, but for what, I'm not sure. Collapsing against the rock, I strain my ears for the beast’s heavy breathing.
There’s nothing. Not the stomp of hooves or the crunch of leaves. I should be able to hear animals, the warble of a bird or scurry of a rabbit, but it’s silent save for the faint sound of a river.
My brows draw together. There shouldn’t be a river here. We’re too far inland, and the Avain is several days’ hard ride to the east.
I’m again drawn toward the water by that invisible force. With each step, cold seeps into my bones and pain radiates from the cut in my side. If I can make it to the river, I can clean myself up, check the damage, and pray to all the gods I don't fucking die.
The river is inky black when I reach it. It’s both a sight that unnerves me and feels familiar all at once. There’s that smell again, cedar and cinnamon and woodsmoke. It’s closer now, but I’m intent on my goal. Reach the river, don't die. Reach the river, don't die.
I stumble on the bank and fall to my knees. Everything is gray.
The leaves, the grass, the scattering of fallen branches. Like the river’s leached all the color from the land and trapped it in its swirling black depths.
I can’t see the bottom—I can’t see much of anything—but I swear a figure moves beneath the surface. A face, a hand. But they’re gone again so quickly it's impossible to be sure. I’m probably hallucinating from the blood loss. I shake my head to clear it.
Holding my hand over the surface, I have the faint sensation of recognition. But that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never been to this place before. I’d remember a river black as pitch and gray grass.
My stomach tightens, and I squeeze my eyes against a wave of nausea. If I pass out before I clean this wound, it’ll become infected. Or worse, my blood will attract predators. After my run-in with that hideous beast, I shudder to think what other awful creatures lurk in these woods.
A noise to my left catches my attention—the snap of a branch, a sharp intake of breath. But I’m too slow to react.
Before I can turn my head, there’s weight and warmth at my back, and a strong hand covered in black leather wraps around my wrist, drawing my hand away from the water.
“Wait,” I croak, unsure if any sound actually makes it past my lips.
I try to stand, but my legs won’t hold me. I brace myself for the impact against the hard earth, but none comes. There’s more warmth against my knees and around my waist, and then I’m floating.
A puff of breath cools my cheek seconds before a deep voice whispers against my ear, “How did you cross the veil, little one?”
I have no idea what he’s asking me. But I can’t answer. The darkness and the pain swallow me up.
Chapter Seven
The wind whips around me in sharp bursts, blowing my hair across my face and my robes around my legs. This is the tallest peak in the mountain range that separates Síra from the rest of the Shadow Realm.
