Page 3 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER ONE

MAEVYTH

I ’d never felt the inclination to resurrect someone from the dead, just to throttle the life out of them, but had that Crone Witch been standing near, remorse be damned, I’d have surely killed her twice.

“Zevander, please!” I lurched toward the hole in the floor that housed my sister, fighting against the thick arm banded around my midsection. “Let me go!” I screamed, clawing at the floorboards for her. “I need to see if she’s alive!”

With little effort, Zevander hauled me away, my back pressed against his chest, and I squirmed in his grasp to get loose.

“If you don’t let me go at once, I will gnaw your arm clean off!” His grip tightening around me elicited another shiver of rage, and I set my teeth to his arm and bit down, feeling his muscles tense as he let out a grunt.

“ Godsblood , will you wait, woman! She could be infected.”

Infected. Yes. The rational side of my brain awakened with his comment, and I stilled, releasing his arm on a string of saliva.

Breaths shallow from the struggle of fighting him, I gave in to his logic.

As devastating as the thought may have been, he was right.

I had no idea what condition she was in. She might’ve very well been dead.

Deep breaths calmed the relentless pounding of my heart, and his grip loosened.

“Allow me.”

I gave a reluctant nod, but when he stepped in front of me, I gripped his arm. “Zevander…please…if she’s infected—” The words caught in my throat.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, clearly sensing my distress.

Another nod, and I let go of his arm, lowering to my knees as he climbed down into the small space beneath the floorboards.

The few shelves and jars of food I could see stacked about told me it must’ve been used as a pantry.

Despite the height of the floor sitting just below the height of his shoulders, the space seemed tall enough for me to walk upright in there.

A radiant cold stiffened my muscles, and I trembled at the thought of Aleysia being trapped there. Far too cold for anyone to survive for long.

If there was truly a god, I prayed that he wouldn’t be so cruel as to lead me to my sister’s corpse.

With slow and careful movements, Zevander lifted my sister into his arms, and the listless way she lay draped over his massive limbs, so small and frail next to his hulking form, had my heart pounding. The anticipation shook through me, as I rubbed my hands together.

Please be alive. Please, let her be alive.

He laid her gently onto the floorboards, and with a held breath, I scrambled closer. Hands trembling, I hesitated to touch her. For weeks, I’d hoped I’d see her again, yet suddenly, the fear of her demise crashed over me, and tears welled in my eyes as I visually inhaled her frail form.

She didn’t appear to be infected. No strange deformities of her face, nor spider legs protruding from any part of her. She looked like the sleeping Aleysia I’d always known. Thinner and paler, yes, but human, at least.

Lurching closer, I rested my ear to her chest. The sound of her slow and steady heartbeat roused more tears, but to be sure, I reached to press my fingers to the vein in her neck, pausing upon catching sight of my blackened fingertips—the same fingers that had taken Elowen’s life.

“I… Could you please…” I scarcely managed to speak my intentions, the way my voice choked with emotion, and Zevander pressed his fingers to her throat.

“She has a pulse.”

I exhaled a shaky breath of relief and shook my head. “I don’t believe she’s infected. She can’t be. The carvings on the door kept them out. Surely, they’d have the same effect on her.”

“So it would seem. Unless she managed to find another way in.”

The cold of her skin seeped into the flat of my hand as I turned her toward me, careful not to touch her with my fingers, and the sight of her pale face tugged at my heart.

“Aleysia. Aleysia, wake up. Please, you must wake up.” A gentle kiss against her forehead failed to elicit so much as a twitch from her.

“Please wake, Sister.” Cool puffs of breath brushed over my face, and I ran my palm over her arms, startled by the unnatural chill that met my skin.

“She’s too cold. We have to get her warm right away. ”

Zevander knelt beside me and held up his palm, the glyph on his hand faintly glowing. “Gods be damned.” He clenched his fist and opened it again, holding it over her. Grumbling to himself, he rubbed his hands together.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t seem to summon the warmth of the flame.”

“At all?”

“I’d rather not test whether, or not, the flame itself can be summoned.” Again, he flexed his fist and held out his palm, shaking his head.

Curious as I was to know why he struggled to call forth his power, my focus remained on Aleysia. “We need to get her warm some other way.”

Carefully sliding his hands beneath her body, Zevander lifted her flaccid form and carried her to The Crone Witch’s bed at the opposite side of the cabin.

As soon as he’d laid her down on the thinning mattress, I gathered up the blankets, piling them on top of her, but when I slid onto the bed beside her, Zevander grabbed my arm.

“That isn’t wise.”

Frowning, I twisted out of his grasp. “Wise, or not, mortals die when our bodies get too cold.”

As if realizing he’d already lost the argument before it’d even begun, he let out a low growl. “She may still be dangerous,” he said. “Know that, if she so much as attempts to harm you, I won’t hesitate?—”

“If she attempts to harm me, then I will deal with her myself,” I snipped, more curtly than intended. “I have taken life with my own hands, too.”

Another grumbling sound of disapproval.

“I understand your concern, I’m not a fool,” I said in a calmer voice. “But she’s my sister, Zevander. Just…please don’t speak of killing her quite yet.”

I didn’t have to crawl inside his mind to know his thoughts had shifted to Rykaia right then, the look of conflict in his eyes spoke for him. Still, he kept his hand closed in a tight fist, reminding me there’d be little I could do to stop him if Aleysia were to attack me.

Snuggling in as close as I could, I also curled my hands into fists to keep my life-stealing fingertips from touching her and draped my arm across her stomach, waiting for any sign of movement.

Had I not heard her heart myself, I’d have surely believed she was dead.

Seconds turned to minutes, and the state of her remained unchanged.

Not a single sign of life, aside from the faint rise and fall of her chest. My thoughts rampaged inside my head, my mind trying to piece together a possibility, but nothing made sense.

I thought back to the vision I’d had, when Dolion had used the scrying mirror, and I saw Aleysia lying warm and safe.

Had there been any truth to it? Had she been a prisoner of The Crone Witch the whole time? Why? I couldn’t fathom what the old woman would’ve wanted from her.

Zevander stood leaning against the frame. Watching. Waiting. His gaze never wavering from the two of us.

“I can’t make sense of this. How could that old crone be so cruel?”

“She may have had her reasons.” His voice was softer than before, yet I still caught a faint thread of tension. “Or maybe she didn’t. I’ve known many to be cruel without reason.”

I thought back to the scars I’d seen on his body, and while I wanted to delve deeper into his comment, I was too emotionally distracted right then for such a serious conversation. “Earlier, when you couldn’t summon your magic…”

“I think you have much bigger concerns at the moment.”

“I simply want to assure they’re bigger, seeing as men have a tendency to make light of serious concerns.”

His lips formed a reluctant smile. “You have my assurance. I’ve not had much vivicantem since I arrived here. It’s taking a small toll on my body.”

“You don’t have any with you?”

“A very waning supply, laced with stimulants that I stole from your friend at The Becoming Ceremony.”

Anatolis. The scribe I’d recognized, who Zevander had questioned and ultimately killed.

“Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be wise to indulge in stimulants,” he said.

“What happens if you’re entirely deprived?”

A grave expression darkened his eyes. “Let’s not worry about that now. As I said, greater concerns.”

“Except that it may become greater over time. Promise me that you will tell me if it gets worse.”

“Of course.”

“And, by gods, if you keep it hidden for my sake , I’ll—” A faint tapping against my arm, deliberate in its cadence, stirred a cold ripple of goosebumps across my skin. I shot my attention to where Aleysia continued to sleep, the tapping no longer present, as if she hadn’t twitched a muscle.

“What is it?”

“She moved. I felt it against my arm. Her finger tapped me.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes…I’m…fairly certain.” Wasn’t I?

“Perhaps it was a reflex.”

“Perhaps. It felt intentional, though.”

A hard thump struck the wall, knocking dust onto my face, and with a hand at the hilt of his dagger, Zevander strode from the room.

Moments later, he returned, his face a mask of concern.

“Quite a few of the infected are gathered just outside. I’m going to keep watch from the window in the other room.

” The torn look in his eyes told me the thought of that troubled him, though. “If she should wake …”

“I’ll be fine.”

He gave a sharp nod. “I’m right here if you need me.” When he turned to exit, the light hit his face in such a way that the skinny veins protruding from his scar seemed darker, if that were possible. The scar almost seemed longer, too, unless I was mistaken.

Perhaps a trick of the light.

I turned back to Aleysia and nuzzled my face in the crook of her neck. “Please wake up. I promise to take you away from this place if you do.”

V eiled in a gray twilight, the trees stood silent, their skeletal forms twisted and gnarled, mantled in a slinking white mist. The scent of death and decay, like freshly turned graves, clogged my throat, as I stepped cautiously through the brush, unfamiliar with my surroundings.

Small, black, insectile critters scampered over the ground, the unnerving tick of their skittering legs prickling my skin.

The sense of someone stalking me tickled the back of my neck, though I didn’t know who or what it was.

I kept on the pathless trek, which took me deeper into the trees until, at last, a vast tree stood in the distance—one so imposing, I imagined it served some ominous purpose for the forest. On approach, I took note of the tree’s limbs, frowning on realizing they resembled human legs and arms. As I passed a cluster of upturned roots, I saw a child’s face carved in the bark, her small hands reaching upward for whatever it was that couldn’t save her.

The details were so vivid, I recalled her from a distant dream.

One of a man in armor tossing her over the edge of a cliff.

And this must’ve been her fate.

I glanced around to see more faces and hands reaching out, their expressions anguished and in pain, like something had swallowed them from below.

Closer, I went toward the ominous tree and etched into the bark was the face of a woman, her expression also twisted in pain. I reached out to touch her, and her eyes shot open to black orbs.

“ Sole mortiz facje salvirun ,” she rasped. Only death can save us.

Terror curled up my spine, my heart pounding in my chest so hard, it ached. I placed my hand there, feeling the beat against my palm.

“ Sole mortiz facje salvirun .”

A few steps back, I could see a red glow across the trunk. A pulsing across the surface that thumped in time to my own heartbeat.

“ Sole mortiz facje salvirun .”

My foot caught on a thick tree root that had wrapped itself around my ankle, and I tumbled backward, landing hard on my backside.

The root wrapped around my other ankle, then crawled up my legs to my shin, and a wave of panic washed over me.

Scratching at the thick, clasping appendage did nothing to loosen it.

“Get off me! Get off me!” The root climbed higher, up both thighs and around my belly, snaking its way up my back.

I clawed to tear it away, but my nails only scratched at the rough surface. “No! Let me go!”

Tendrils of the root wrapped around my neck, and hysterics seized my breath as it tightened at my throat.

Tighter.

Tighter.

I opened my mouth to scream but could summon nothing more than a hoarse rasp.

Please!

My eyes shot open to two black orbs staring down at me. Soulless, black eyes framed by long, dirty locks of blond hair that belonged to my sister.

Her lips moved quickly as words I didn’t recognize spilled out of her at a frantic speed.

Pressure at my throat had my eyes watering, and I let out a small cough.

My lungs beat inside my chest for one sip of air, and tears filled my eyes as I raised my hands for the blackened fingertips that would turn her to dust at my command.

Please don’t make me do this. Please, Aleysia. Don’t make me do this!

“ Kill her, Maevyth ,” the voice I recognized as Morsana’s urged. “ Kill her now! ”

The world faded to a pinprick.

Then blackness.