Page 35 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

I t was like falling through a void. Falling through black emptiness, suspended in the air with nothing in sight while her insides rearranged themselves, twisting into knots as she fell... and fell... and fell...

An endless amount of darkness cradled her from all sides, the shadows like claws that reached for her body through the void. She was sure she screamed, but the sound itself was lost to her ears. It was emptiness. It was loneliness.

And when Bryson finally landed, it was face-first in the dirt. Her teeth scraped against the ground and she choked on grass and mud and the tinny taste of something that burned and scraped down her throat. Pushing herself up by her palms, Bryson coughed, hacking out the taste of whatever she’d swallowed, though it coated her tongue like a thick honey she couldn’t dispel.

She blinked the grime from her eyes, every rapid rush of her eyelids a mirror of the pounding of her heart. Her eyes began to sting, and every blink felt like scraping rocks from her eyeballs. It was a sensation that was familiar to her, though one she had tried so hard to forget.

The burn came immediately, and Bryson cried out, swiping her muddy hands across her lids, rubbing them furiously despite the fact that they were dirty. But it didn’t matter. The sting persisted. Like acid had been tossed straight into her eyes. She blinked and blinked and blinked. And every time an image of the strange forest surrounding her appeared, just like that, her vision faded slowly to blackness.

“No, no, no, no.” The panic came quickly, and the words felt heavy on her leaden tongue. Bryson tried to move, her body squelching in the foul-smelling mud each time she lifted her limbs. Her nostrils stung and her next blink brought with it tears that touched her lips and tasted a lot like blood.

Bryson whimpered in fear.

Not again, she begged Mana. Not again.

But there was no denying what was happening. What this clearly was. She could taste it on her tongue, feel it in the air, and it settled heavy over her gaze, blinding her like it had so many years ago.

Iron coated all around her, and she was impervious to stop the effects from claiming her body.

Tears flowed freely as Bryson tried to grab her bearings. Her heart pounded and her chest began to heave. The entire world funneled through her vision, and she saw nothing but black spots dancing through her mind. She choked on her own breaths, a desperate edge of panic gripping her tightly and refusing to let go.

She was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die.

Bryson tried to halt those thoughts, but they were persistent in her head, no matter how hard she attempted to banish them. She lifted her muddied hands to her hair, tugging tightly at the strands. Maybe the pain could help her focus, could pull her out of that dark place. Maybe when she next opened her eyes, she’d be able to see what was surrounding her. But she needed to calm down.

She needed to be smart.

It took several moments of deep breathing, of calming her erratic heart with gentle words echoing through her head. “You’re okay,” she told herself. “You will be okay.”

She didn’t even mind the fact that she was telling herself foul lies.

Once the words became a mantra, she felt them settle over her body. The tight rigidness eased from her muscles, and she relaxed into the earth.

And ever so slowly, Bryson dared to open her eyes once again.

Images seemed to flick in and out of focus at first. Gradually, that twisted vision began to clear a mere fraction. But still, all Bryson saw were shadows. There was no color. No images. Only blurry dark figures looming in the distance. She took a breath, held back her sob, and lifted her hand in front of her face, waving it from side to side.

Shadows. Nothing but a blur of shadows.

Her tears flowed once again, but she didn’t let the panic take over.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve been through this before.”

She had lost much more at the time. Her vision had completely gone then. At least this time she could see shadows. At least she could make out shapes now. All wasn’t lost. Even if the iron grated her eyeballs and made tears of blood trail down her cheeks. Even if her insides burned and her throat felt like it was closing up.

Bryson took another deep breath and reached out with her other senses. What she lacked in sight, she would try to make up for with everything else. First, she scented the air. Past the foul mud that coated her entire body, past the tang of iron, she could make out nature, though it wasn’t a nature she was familiar with.

At camp, things always had a distinctive scent. The magic flittering through the air in waves from the brownies as they cleaned, the shimmer of Fae wine bubbling against the tongue as it was brewed. Sap from the trees. Animal droppings. Bodies. It all mixed together to create something unique.

This was like nothing she’d ever scented before.

Mud, iron, and the raw touch of magic not her own. Not any she’d ever felt before.

She pushed out with the rest of her senses, listening intently. Near her side there was a riverbank, a rushing of cool water that lapped up to her feet. Bryson shivered against it and finally forced herself to her feet. She nearly stumbled as her boots squished into the mud and tore them from the sinking depths. Her entire body ached as she carefully stepped away from the edge of the river. Every movement was slow agony as she held her hands out in front of her, sliding her feet against the ground and kicking stray objects so she wouldn’t trip.

Once she felt she was far enough away from the dangers of the water, she paused to assess her next move. Bryson had no idea where she was. All she knew was that she was in a forest surrounded by iron. Was she even still in Ielwyn? Her gut told her she wasn’t. The fact she couldn’t even hear or sense her familiar anywhere near solidified that fact. If she wasn’t in Ielwyn, her friends wouldn’t know where to find her or how. She could sit and wait to be rescued, but that brought its own complications.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what creatures roamed these woods. And without her sight, it would be infinitely more difficult to fight and navigate her way through an unknown place. Not to mention she could already feel her magic waning as it tried to battle against the iron.

She was useless.

No .

She halted those thoughts as soon as they formed. She was not useless, and she would not sit here waiting to be rescued; she wouldn’t sit here waiting to die.

She had to move. She had to keep going. She had to try and survive.

“Come find me...”

Bryson jolted at the voice that echoed through the wind. She tilted her head up, straining her ears, wondering if the iron had gotten to her brain and she’d imagined the eerie echo.

“Come find me...”

There the voice was. Louder now. Closer. Like it drifted through the air to caress her ears alone. It sent a shiver down her spine. She should have felt wary, but all she could muster was a welcoming sensation. A burning curiosity.

“No, Bryson...” But even as she scolded herself, she couldn’t stop her feet from moving in the direction the voice had come from. It whispered. It beckoned.

And Bryson was powerless to resist its call.

“Come find me...”

Her feet stumbled over rocks and sticks and fallen leaves. Brambles tore into her clothes from all sides, scraping against her cheeks and drawing blood. She held her arms out, feeling the air, feeling that desperate edge of panic start to rise all over again.

“Come find me...”

Her feet stumbled on the ground, and she burst past the foliage into what felt like open space. The soles of her feet curved and stomped against cracking rocks that nearly caused her to slip and fall. She lifted her iron-coated gaze to the air, breathing heavily, and suddenly there was a voice.

“Oh, dear, are you alright?”

Bryson jolted in surprise as a shadowy figure appeared before her. She could make nothing out save for a slumped, hunched body, and the trembling, creaking voice let her know it belonged to an old crone.

“You look like you have been through something awful,” the crone went on. Her voice scraped like rusted iron, and Bryson could read the concern in her tone.

It made her shoulders relax a fraction. “There was a voice...” But it was long gone now. She hadn’t heard it again, and it left Bryson wondering if maybe she’d just imagined the entire thing.

“Oh, dear.” The crone stepped closer, and Bryson flinched as she placed her withered, leathery hands against her own. “You’re shaking, child. And your skin is cold as ice. Come. Let me take you to my home. I will take very good care of you.”

Again, Bryson found herself powerless to resist as she was led over hundreds, thousands, of crunching rocks that littered the ground. She nearly tripped, but the crone’s grip was firm on her hands as she guided her up what felt like a slope.

“So wet and muddy,” the crone tsk ed. “Let’s get you clean, yes?” she offered. “No need to fear, dear. I am here now. And I am going to take very good care of you.”