Siren's Song (29 page)

“Miss?”

I lick my lips. “It's nothing. Just . . .”

“Something's wrong with this place,” Mia says. “I know that right enough.”

I nod. “Good.”

A wave of muggy heat slams into my skin as we get close to the forest's internal fringe, and I remember how it feels here. Where everything is eerily quiet and more dangerous than any other place in Faelen.

“Stay as close to me as possible,” I say to her and Gilford before calling down an icy wind to keep the temperature around us cool.

When the Cashlins look at me, one of the soldiers merely answers, “Bolcranes hunt by sensing body heat.”

Their eyes widen and they nod.

“Best not to talk either,” he adds.

“And don't touch the trees,” I mutter, at which the guards with us shiver but don't complain.

It's slow progress, following the scent of the wraiths and Myles's footsteps. We're working our horses past the spindle trees with their poisoned spikes and into the darker part of the forest path where the daylight is all but blotted out by thick moss that hangs down like leeches on all sides. Once or twice two of the soldiers veer too close to the edge and nearly wake the giant, bloated ticks nestled there that are as big as a man's chest.

One of the men is so disgusted at almost touching the vile thing, he actually leans over and throws up.

“Lovely,” another mutters.

“No sign of Lord Myles or the wraiths yet,” Mia says. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I'm not sure. But as long as their tracks stay fresh . . . Strangely enough, I believe we're nearing the place on the map Eogan gave me—where the Uathúils live.” I don't mention that the coincidence seems more than odd. It's eerie.

“People actually live here?” Gilford asks in a shocked tone.

“They do.”

“Why?” His expression makes it clear this is worse than any place he's thus far encountered in his young life.

“The same reason Cashlins keep to themselves. To be safe from other people.”

“Forget that—what about from all these hideous beasts?”

“Oh, trust me, we've not encountered anything yet.”

I keep up the cool air as we continue on until the growth is too thick and we're forced to walk, dragging the gradually resistant horses behind us.

“Your temperature control seems to be working quite effectively,” Mia says at one point.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” I don't tell her that more than that, I was noticing the lack of wraith appearances and bolcrane cries has actually got me unnerved. I'm not keeping our body heat perfectly hidden—and we should've attracted at least a couple of either by now.
C'mon, Myles, where are you?

“This isn't making me like that man more,” Gilford growls.

I snort.
You and me both.

It's another hour before we finally stumble into a clearing that skirts a tiny village. One of the soldiers shoots me a look that says he's going to investigate for anyone hiding.

“How could someone live there?” his counterpart whispers. And when I glance over, the poor man's face is petrified. The muscles in his neck flex taut with every rustle of the surrounding trees.

Except suddenly my neck is flexing, too, because something's wrong. With my blood I can feel the
lap lap lap
of the ocean water not too far away, calling to me, but here . . . there is only silence.

And the smell.

I don't have to peer through the branches to know what we're about to find. It's the same as Colin and I had seen in another village much like this.

“Something's not right,” Mia says.

I nod. Did the wraiths wipe out this village so fast?

No. It's not that. “The plague,” I whisper.

The men start to fall back with curses, pulling their shirts up over their mouths and noses.

“The Luminescent can stay here with two guards and the horses,” I say, “but the rest need to help us do a quick sweep for survivors.”

They comply, though the whites of their eyes are bigger than their mouths. Before I can push forward, however, Mia slips up to me.

“I know you're also searching for the Uathúils here.” Her eyes are lit up like red candle lanterns. “Only I don't believe they're here any longer.” She swallows and stares, as if willing me to read past her words. Then, finally, “I'm not saying they're dead, but I'm not sensing them. At all. However, there's another presence I've felt since this morning.”

“I've felt it too.” I lower my voice. “Can you tell—is he in Faelen? Draewulf, I mean.”

She shakes her head. “I'm not sure, but . . .”

“But?”

“But something is.” She scans the area in front of us, then glances back. “I suggest we hurry.”

“Agreed,” I breathe out. And stride to the front of the waiting soldiers, who follow into the village of silence that grows so heavy I actually wish a bolcrane would come crashing through. For a moment I hear a hissing sound. Like a snake or like the wraiths we're tracking. Except before I can narrow in on it, it's gone, leaving me with the impression it was never there at all.

Bleeding hulls, Nym, just see if there's anyone left alive. And find Myles.

I keep the air cool around us even as the humidity picks up to near unbearable. And although I've yet to see any giant ticks hanging from trees in this area, the webs and mist are still thick enough to make the soldiers jittery.

“It's fine,” I want to tell them, but I don't because we'd all know it'd be a lie.

We move across swamp holes that have logs laid across them efficiently enough to tell us people set them there and therefore we must be on the right path. Soon the hissing comes again, but after a few minutes it sounds more like buzzing. And when the trail nears a scattering of fallen trees, the air above them is black with flies.

“Well, that's despicable.” A soldier waves a hand in front of his face.

I chuckle until I follow his gaze and realize he's not talking about the insects. He's staring at the bodies.

Bolcranes. Or rather, pieces of bolcranes are lying beside downed trees. They've been cut up just like the branches—but instead of oozing poisoned sap, the giant black, scaly beasts are oozing dark blood that looks and smells like oil. There are four of them, some missing legs or teeth from their bodies that are larger than horses and necks longer than snakes.

I peer away lest the temptation to vomit onto Gilford, who's tramping in front of me, overtakes me.

“What did this?” He peers back at us.

“My best guess is the people who live near here.”

The Cashlin nods. Then, as if on second thought, says, “What do you think they use them for? And how in blazes did they bring them down?”

I shrug and try to ignore the ill sensation prickling every inch of my skin. And hope we don't have to find out. From the expressions on the soldiers' faces, they're hoping the same thing. I feel one of them pull back closer to me and lift his sword a little higher.

“Perhaps we should let the wraiths go,” one of the men says. “I doubt they'll last long in here anyway.”

“Neither will Lord Myles. Or the Uathúils we're looking for if the wraiths get hold of them.” I let a film of energy ripple along my
arms and neck, bristling the air around us as if to ward off any who might take interest as to why we're travelling through, and keep moving forward.

“Up ahead,” a guard calls out. He's pointing to another clearing among the trees where it appears there's a small village. The only way I can see it through the murk and moss is by the shafts of sunlight glimmering off the branches and huts.

Despite the stench and sick feeling in my veins, the glow of light is warm, inviting even, over this town that appears to be located in a large circular earthen divot, about two feet lower than the path we're on. With hovels made from sticks.

Burnt sticks.

“You think the Uathúils are here?” Gilford moves closer to me.

I shake my head. “Eogan thinks so, but . . .” I stare around at all the burned-out hovels and dirty sheets hung over doors in warning. And the blackened forest dirt.

“There are signs of them.”

I veer toward the soldier who spoke. “What do you mean?”

“The Uathúils. Or one of them at least.” He points to the circular-divoted ground, then up to a section of earth that's been built up like a wall to surround the far side of the village. I assumed the people living here had built it, but when I peer harder it hits me that the dirt piled high is fresher than that packed along the edge. As if . . .

I stare at him. “A Terrene.”

He nods.

My mind is playing games with me, because before he says anything further, I swear I see a flash of black cloak between the dirt-wall mound and a burnt home. But when I peek closer, nothing's there but the mist and dim. I shudder anyway. “Let's find Myles and get out of here. Uathúil or no Uathúil.”

“Of course, miss.” But the man is eyeing the soldiers behind us who've begun shuffling uneasily.

“I need you to hold it together another hour,” I say calmly to them.

“Miss, over here!”

I trot to where three guards are standing over a pile of rot.

Not rot. Stopping three feet away I can see they're grown men with blackened skin and staring eyes and slashed-open throats.

One, two, three corpses. And more splayed on the far side of the clearing. Including what appears to be Lord Myles.

Oh bracken, no.

I can't help the gagging sound erupting from my mouth. I lean over in case bile comes with it, only to notice at least two of the soldiers have already lost their stomach fluid. After a moment the nausea eases.

“Myles.” I beckon to the third soldier. “Is he . . .?” I don't even have to wait for him to speak because I'm certain his set mouth matches my own. As if we both know what caused this.

The bodies aren't just rotting. Some of them are missing body parts.

I stare at the men just as that hissing sound picks up, and this time I know even if they can't hear it, they're sensing it. “Wraiths.” I kick at one of the bodies before the soldiers draw their swords and Gilford nods to me.

“This is more than the plague,” I say for the guards' benefit as I spin around to face the shadows that are suddenly emerging from the trees and hovel doors. “And, Gilford, that fancy ring of yours won't work on what's coming.”

“What in blazes?” someone utters.

“They're only killed by impaling their heads!” I yell.

“But, miss, what—?”

Gilford's comment dies as the next moment it's like a tide of black mist and shredded gray cloaks is loosed. Fifty of them, at least, with hollowed-out faces and conglomerated bodies of humans and bolcranes heading our way and—

Litch.
That's what they were using the bolcranes for. To make more wraiths.

Draewulf's been here.

CHAPTER 28

I
GLANCE UP AND AROUND THE TREETOPS—ANYWHERE
the monster might be hiding—but all I see is a squadron of his Dark Army descending.

“Nym!”

I duck just as a bolcrane claw attached to the bone-thin arm of a dead man comes slashing down at me. Rolling around him, I touch the monster's clammy skin with my hand and send a shock through it all the way to its head. It falls, and before I can even think about it, another has replaced it.

Four, five, six, I bring down ice pick after ice pick to slam into their temples. Then, farther out, use a shred of lightning to tear through the wraiths dropping through the tree line, lighting them on fire along with what's left of the hovels in the clearing.

It doesn't matter
, I tell myself. They're all dead. I eye the beasts lashing at the guards with claws and swords and metal spikes. These beings who used to be the people who made up this village. From the looks of it, they've not been human for a week or more.

How could Draewulf have gotten here in time to create them?

I shove a bolt of static through the face of a wraith about to decimate Gilford's backside, and the thing falls into a pile of dust as the realization hits me.

Draewulf was in Faelen posing as Breck. And after that?

He was here for a week as Eogan.

I look around at the monsters crawling toward us in a slowly diminishing mass. And try not to be sick.

Eogan did this after the Keep when Draewulf was using him. He'd already started in on turning our own people to add to his army.

Litch.

A scream from nearby draws my gaze over in time to see one of our guards being gutted.
Thump thump thump—
a shower of ice picks impales the beast's brain and five others along with it, but it's too late for the soldier.

“Holy mother of—” Gilford yells from the right of us.

Suddenly the earth around me is grumbling, groaning, shifting as it ripples the rocks and dirt beneath my boots. I glance down only to hear another cry from another of our soldiers as in my peripheral he disappears.
What the—?

There's a crack where he was just standing that's fast becoming a gaping hole, much like Colin used to create. In fact, exactly like Colin used to create.

Before I can see who's causing it, the crack enlarges to race toward me and the rest of the unit.

“Move!” a soldier yells, and we're promptly all jumping out of the way just before the earth crumbles beneath us.

Another shout—this one from a guard who scrambled straight into a wraith's snakelike teeth.
Bleeding hulls, we're getting annihilated.

I take out two wraiths nearest us, then tell one of the men, “Hold them off!” before standing on my tiptoes and turning in a circle to get a view of who the Terrene is.

I don't see him at first.