Page 100 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

MAEVYTH

A violent jerk of my body wrenched me from sleep, and I opened my eyes to an overcast light, so blindingly bright, I winced.

A sharp sting stabbed my temples, and I moaned as it pierced my skull in a deep, throbbing ache that quickened with a high pitch ringing in my ears.

Palm to my head, I let out a hiss, jaw flexing as it intensified then slowly faded.

Pain twisted in my legs and arms, a fist of tension gripping my lungs as I turned to my side and coughed.

A musky and bitter animal odor lingered beneath the faint tang of smoke and wood.

I curled my fingers into the matted pelt covering me, which offered only a little warmth from the blistering cold that burrowed deep in my bones.

Sleep pulled at me, begging me to close my eyes for a bit longer, a nauseating dizziness twisting my stomach as my body jostled to the rhythm of wheels bouncing over uneven terrain.

Where am I?

Rusted iron bars greeted me when I lifted my head.

A cage? Above me, the ceiling rattled and swayed with every bump.

Beyond the bars, children peered in on me as they followed alongside the cage.

Their pale, youthful faces bore the smeared shape of a raven kohled in black over their eyes and forehead.

I scrambled backward, my spine crashing into bars at my back. More of them chased after the contraption that carried me, keeping ahead of the horsedrawn cage that followed them.

Over the steady clop of horse hooves rose the sound of whispers, and I could just make out, “Who is she?”

Memories rushed in, flashing through my head in jagged pieces.

The ground opening. Faceless creatures with teeth. Screams. A strike of the bone whip. Gut-wrenching screams. Stone crumbling.

Zevander.

“Zevander!” Gasping, I shot upright, instantly regretting the abrupt movement when a jolt of pain struck my skull.

In palpating the ache, my fingers danced over fabric, a knot, as if someone had dressed a wound.

Shallow breaths ghosted out of me in frosty puffs as I frantically searched for my family through the crowd. “Zevander! Aleysia!”

I twisted around and scrambled on hands and knees, wobbling against the rough thrashing of the cage, toward a man who sat hunched forward, clutching the reins of two draft horses that pulled us along.

“Excuse me…I need to get out of here. Please stop! My …. My family …. I need to find out if they’re okay. ”

The coachman kept silent, never once turning around, not even when I slammed my hands against the bars.

“Please stop!” I gave one more smack against the bars, but he seemed insistent on ignoring me.

Frustrated, I scanned the surroundings outside of the cage in search of something familiar, something my head could grasp in all the confusion.

The path wound through a small village nestled in a dark forest, where squatty black cottages with thatched roofs stood shadowed by the wall of rock behind them.

I leaned forward, peering up through the bars, to see that the wall disappeared into the clouds.

The mountains?

We still had nearly a week-long journey ahead of us when we’d reached the church.

Had I slept for days?

Hands curled around the bars, I wriggled them, but they wouldn’t budge. “I have to get out! Please let me out!”

The carriage finally rolled to a stop, and more of the raven-faced children gathered around, clinging to the bars as they gawped at me.

“Back, back, back!” The coachman, an older man, given his white beard and matted gray hair, hopped down from his bench and rounded the cage.

He waved the children off as he unfastened a lock and tugged open the door.

“Come,” he said, holding out a hand to me.

Around his neck hung a bird’s skull with a hooked beak, like that of a raven’s.

“Where am I?”

“Out of the rubble.” He flicked his fingers, urging me out. “Perhaps you might be grateful.”

I didn’t budge, but watched him with wary eyes. “Where is my family?”

“They are here, as well.”

“Alive?”

“For now.”

“I want to see them.”

He raised his bushy brows. “To see them, you must first exit the carriage. Now, come.”

Ignoring the needling pain shooting down through my knee and shin, I scrambled on hands and knees toward him and jumped from the back of the cart.

The moment my boots hit the ground, the surrounding crowd gasped in unison, backing away.

I glanced around, noting their dark clothed bodies and the black feathers they wore.

Fingers clamped around my wrist. I snapped my attention toward the older man and wrenched my arm free. The path of gawkers parted as I ran for the next carriage, peering into the cage behind it.

Black wolves paced inside, and breath shot out of me as I jumped back.

I ran to the next after that.

Cords of wood stacked in neat piles.

The next after that held piled stones, like those which had crumbled back at the church. Had they dug us out of the rubble?

Through panting breaths, I turned back to the man.

He stood behind me, brows tipped up. “Would you like to see your family now?”

I exhaled a shaky breath and nodded.

Jerking his head, he led me up black, slate stairs, toward a much larger cottage that sat at the top of a cliff.

As I followed him, I searched the sky for Raivox, hoping he might’ve followed us.

The last I’d seen of him, he’d been swarmed by vyrmish, who viciously clawed at him.

A pang of sadness stirred in my chest at the thought of him succumbing to those faceless creatures.

“You’re looking for your bird dragon.” The man ahead of me glanced over his shoulder. “He flew off. Perhaps back to his nest.”

“His nest?”

He pointed upward, toward the mountain whose summit couldn’t be seen beyond the clouds.

“He nests here?”

“Has been for quite some time.”

That made no sense. None of it made sense.

Breath wheezed out of me by the time we reached the flat of the cliff, my injuries sapping what little energy I’d mustered.

Symbols carved into the wooden door of the cottage reminded me of the ones I’d seen drawn on Elowen’s door. Four vertical lines with about a dozen symbols in each row.

As if noticing my curiosity, the man beside me said, “It’s a warding spell.

” He swung open the door, releasing a waft of heat and the scent of burning herbs.

The room inside was lit only by a fire that sat in the center of it, which drew my eyes to a cauldron hanging from a soot-caked trammel hook and tripod.

Bundles of dried plants hung from the walls, and small sachets dangled about the room, like those I made at home.

Wooden shelves sagged under the weight of bottles and apothecary jars, and whatever colorful, strange things had been preserved in them.

Posted about the room were men donned in black feathers, holding black stone spears with white tips that seemed to sparkle in the firelight.

I trailed my gaze to the right of me, where a familiar face offered a small bit of relief.

Corwin, sitting beside a table where a woman in a long, black dress and feathers attended to a wound at his head.

He gave a slight smile and waved, which I acknowledged with a nod as my eyes swept the room for Zevander and Aleysia, flicking over the blazing firepit at its center.

I spied them on the other side of it, where the two of them lay on wooden beds.

Motionless.

The moment I stepped toward them, an arm smacked against my chest on a hard crack.

I let out a grunt, rubbing the spot where I’d been struck, and turned to see a woman, also bearing black feathers, with piles of fabric that made up the long, black dress she wore.

Like that of the man beside me, a bird’s skull hung around her neck, amongst other various bones I couldn’t identify.

Claws dangled at her waist, clanking as she stepped in front of me.

Atop her head sat what appeared to be a human skull, adorned with feathers, like some strange sort of crown.

“They are ill.” Her voice spilled like silk over iron—gentle yet hard and articulate.

“Who are you?” I growled back at her.

“The priestess of the Lyverian tribe,” Father said from behind, and I swung around to see him hobbling toward me on a single crutch, his entire leg wrapped in thick bandages that seeped blood.

My brows came together as I took in the state of him, pale and sickly, recalling the vyrmish that’d dragged him out of the church. “Father …”

“It’s all right. By the grace of our good god, I’m alive.” He waved toward the strange, feathered woman. “The priestess here, she has no ill intent.” His brows pulled tight, and he lowered his gaze. “They’ve determined Aleysia is infected.”

“Infected?” I tipped my head to get his attention, but he seemed reluctant to look at me. “By the plague?”

“Yes.” He dared to look up, staring past me toward where she lay. “There’s a mass on her flank there. It grows inside of her.”

“She’s traveled for days with us. She’s…been herself for the most part.”

“That is a testament to her strength. And yet, the plague continues to feed on her from the inside.” The priestess glided toward one of the bowed shelves, and two of the men with spears quickly crossed the room and knelt low in front of her, their foreheads pressed to the floor.

She stepped up onto their backs and swiped one of the apothecary jars from the shelf.

“So…what do you intend to do? Kill her?” Hands fisted at my sides, I surged forward. “Because I’ll kill you, if you so much as?—”

“Quiet yourself,” she snapped. She sauntered back toward me, her steps more of a glide, and reached out for my gloved hand that I quickly drew back.

Wearing a look of indignity, she reached again, snatching it up before I had a chance to draw back again, and with it in her grasp, she twisted it, studying it. “A rider’s glove.”

“Rider?”