Page 92 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

MAEVYTH

R ows of bookshelves lined the stone walls of the temple library—a room I had never been permitted to enter before.

So many books, hoarded by the clergymen who insisted that reading was not for women and young girls.

It left me wondering if those who survived would change the laws, with Sacton Crain no longer ruling over them.

Or would they remain forever stagnant in their beliefs?

Zevander stood over a table beside Father, while on Father’s other side, Corwin had exchanged his black mourneclote for a plain white tunic and trousers.

All three studied a Mortasian map. As I understood, the journey to the mountains would take from five to seven days, and the terrain, on a good day, was treacherous.

“What, exactly, do you seek in the Sawtooth Mountains?” Father asked.

Zevander and I exchanged a quick glance. “An element found there. One that Mr. Moros discovered a while back,” I answered.

“The white stones?” The guarded tone in Father’s voice left me to wonder what he knew of those stones, and a fragile glimmer of hope slipped through the cracks of my growing skepticism that we’d ever find them.

“You’ve seen the stones?”

“Lyverians guard them rather violently.” Father looked Zevander up and down. “What is your intention with them?”

Zevander didn’t answer, but gave Father that frighteningly stoic look, like he’d have sooner slid his blade across the older man’s throat

“We only need a small chunk of it,” I said, jumping in. “The scorpion you saw?—”

“The abomination I saw. An illusory trick of the eyes.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Aleysia groaned, slumping into one of the two velvet chairs set before a small hearth. “Never mind that we all saw the scorpion. We’re all apparently delusional. The map you’re staring at might not be real, either. Did you consider that, Father? Perhaps it’s an illusion .”

Father glared back at Aleysia. “I don’t appreciate your mocking tone, young lady. Many are capable of witnessing an illusion at once.”

That he continued to defend a doctrine which had him branded a heretic, and led to him being thrown into a cell and almost burned at the stake, grated on me. “It’s blood magic. And it’s real, Father. I’m not going to waste time convincing you of this. If you don’t intend to help, say so.”

He seemed to chew on my words like they were an unsavory piece of gristle in his mouth.

“The northern landscape isn’t like Foxglove.

It’s rife with creatures, the likes of which we’ve never seen in these parts.

Dangerous creatures. If we stay along the river, here, that will lead us to the foot of the mountains.

The Lyverians are a very protective people, but they are not unnecessarily hostile, so long as you do not pose a threat.

” He gave a quick glance toward Zevander and cleared his throat.

“They are scattered all throughout this stretch here,” he said, pointing to the surrounding forest along the path.

“An advantageous route to ambush Vonkovyan soldiers.”

“Who’s to say how protective they’ve become since the world has gone to hell.” Zevander rubbed his jaw, his brows knitted together as he pointed to a different point on the map. “What about this stretch? Seems we could bypass them here.”

Father rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself upright, a look of concern crinkling his brow. It was strange to see the man I’d always thought of as strong and commanding appear so small and brittle beside Zevander. “That one is…not a good idea.”

“Impassable?” Zevander questioned.

“It’s haunted by the dead.”

The mere suggestion tightened my chest. While I’d moved past the shock of seeing the dead, their occasional visits were still troublesome and, as I’d found, not always pleasant.

My trepidation seemed to be shared by everyone else in the room, all of whom wore worrisome expressions—except Zevander, of course, who continued studying the map, completely indifferent.

“In the early part of the century, that land was occupied by an entire village,” Father continued.

“Members of Foxglove Parish who felt that our doctrines were far too lax. They followed their high sacton to the northern lands and settled there.” He pointed to a portrait on the wall of a man with white hair and bushy gray brows that, somehow, looked even more stern than Sacton Crain.

“Sacton Gansley was rumored to have consumed morumberry wine so excessively, it turned him raving mad. The annals describe him as having suffered delirium, hearing voices, seeing things that weren’t there.

He claimed there were demons underfoot, in the ground.

One day, a trader from Foxglove traveled to their small village in the woods and found nothing there.

Not a trace of the people, their animals, their church.

Some believed the sacton burned them. Others say an evil entity swallowed them into the depths of Hell.

Either way, an entire village disappeared, and anyone who has traveled that path has never returned. ”

“Except for the trader who happened upon nothing,” Zevander argued, his tone brimming with boredom. “If you think your ghosts will scare me off, you’re wrong.”

“I speak Lyverian. I could attempt peaceful passage on the other route, except…”

Zevander huffed. “Except …”

Father lowered his gaze. “Except that I didn’t entirely leave on good terms with their priestess.”

Zevander let out a low groan and rolled his shoulders back. “Which could make them more hostile than usual.”

“I’m certain, if given an opportunity to explain, I could?—”

“What in…godssakes!” Corwin strode across the room toward the window, pointing a trembling finger.

“Did…d-d-d-did you see something fly by the window just now?” He turned around to face us, his eyes wide.

“I swear it was…the most massive…thing I’ve ever seen.

” An enormous shadow slid into view behind him, as he stood unaware that Raivox peered in through the window at his back.

“What in God’s name is that!” Father stumbled back from the table, tripping over a chair, which tumbled after him.

Still rigid, Corwin slowly turned his head, and I stepped forward.

“Corwin! Wait.” I held out my hand, shifting my attention between him and the Corvugon behind him. “Quick movements might startle him. Just…before you look, know that he won’t hurt you. Intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aleysia said, picking up the brush she’d brought to the library from the table beside her chair. “It is a wild animal and it seems to have its sights set on Corwin. Good thing he can’t fit through that window or I’d say you’d make a nice, juicy worm to chomp.”

“Aleysia,” I groaned, sailing a look of disapproval back at my sister. “You know nothing about him.”

“ Him ?” Corwin flicked his head to the side as if to look, but hesitated. “We know it’s a him ? Do we know what him is?”

Mouth parted, I glanced at Father and back. “He’s a dragon. Of sorts. A bird dragon.”

Corwin forced a smile and nodded, clearly unnerved.

“Ah. I see.” When he finally turned around, he gasped and tripped backward, just like Father, only he landed in a nearby chair.

“Oh …. Oh. my. He …. He’s quite large, isn’t he?

” A nervous laugh flew out of him, as he lazily slid out of the chair, keeping his attention on Raivox while he backed himself to where we all stood.

“So, does he eat like a bird, then? Worms? Seeds? That sort of thing?”

“Animals mostly.”

“Of course. I suppose he’d have to eat an entire granary of seeds to fill that body.” Hand to his chest, Corwin closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, yes. As you were.” He waved toward us. “Just slowing my heart before it leaps out of my mouth. Keep on with your map plotting.”

Raivox continued to peer in on him with the kind of curiosity that left me wondering if he was sizing him up as a meal.

Father turned back to the map, probably dismissing the dragon as a figment of his imagination, as calm as he seemed about it. “We were discussing the safest route to the mountains.”

“We’ll be taking the other path.” The sharp edge of Zevander’s tone left little room for dispute. “Unless there’s more than ghosts that consume churches and people?”

“You’re not exactly fit to denounce the supernatural, with your spectral creatures and whims of witchcraft.”

“Spectral.” Zevander sneered. “And you hardly seem fit for travel, so I’m recommending you stay back.”

Father squared his shoulders against the much bigger man. “If you think I’m letting you skip off to those mountains alone with my two daughters, you are sorely mistaken.”

“It’s safe here. With plenty of food. You’ll slow us down.” While there may have been a kernel of truth to his words, I winced at their painfully cold delivery. “Aleysia can stay with you.”

Aleysia scoffed from where she sat raking the brush through her hair. “I am not staying here in the temple where I was almost burned at the stake.”

Palms planted on the table, Zevander hung his head, clearly growing impatient. “The bigger our group, the longer it’ll take to get there.”

Aleysia lowered her brush and crossed her arms. “Is Maevyth going?”

“Yes,” I said, before Zevander had the opportunity to say otherwise.

“Then, I’m going, as well.”

Zevander groaned, running his hand down his face.

“I know where there are horses,” Corwin added quietly. “At least a dozen or so. Well, last I knew, anyway. I was in charge of feeding them at one time.”

“Where?” Zevander’s eyes narrowed on him.

“Below. There’s a stable that was built after the Scallym plague a little over two centuries ago.

It can house up to two dozen livestock. Sacton Crain had the pigs and goats slaughtered for meat, so only the horses remain.

He felt it was imperative to keep them alive, in the event we had to escape quickly. ”

“An entire village and only a dozen horses?” Zevander raised a brow, voicing the same question burning through my mind. “Doesn’t sound like he planned for everyone’s escape.”

Corwin shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“Show me this stable.” The skepticism weighed thick in Zevander’s tone, but when he shot me a quick glance, I was the one who turned suspicious of the assassin’s sudden curiosity.

“I’m going with you.” I stepped toward them as if they might try to run off. How easy it would’ve been for him to slip away with one of the horses and head to the mountains himself.

Zevander’s eyes were on me then, his argument already forming in that resistant gaze. “We’ll need supplies for our travels. Blankets. Any weapons you can scrounge.”

“I’m certain Father and Aleysia can manage that,” I battled back.

“You’re concerned I’m going to leave without you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“And risk that you’ll foolishly come after me, anyway? No. I’d rather spare myself the headache.” He languidly crossed the room toward me with a slow, smoldering confidence and a look of amusement in his eyes. “I’m in no mood to stoke your scheming.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Well, at least you’re beginning to recognize how foolishly defiant I can be.”

“Indeed.” He bowed toward me and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I’m enchanted by your defiance.”

Corwin cleared his throat. “So…shall we, then?”

Zevander didn’t bother to break his gaze from mine, but a tic beneath his eye hinted at his annoyance, before he strode from the room with Corwin following after him.

Aleysia crossed her arms and tipped her head. “I dunno. I think I see the three of you getting along swimmingly in a relationship.”

“Aleysia Bronwick. We’ll have none of that talk,” Father warned.

“That talk?” Aleysia snorted. “Father if you only knew. The reason I was banished to the woods was for?—”

“Kissing Joseph Marowe. Yes, we know.” Lips flat, I gave a subtle shake of my head, knowing damn well Father would’ve persecuted her for admitting to being pregnant with Uncle Riftyn’s child.

“Joseph Marowe?” Father scratched at his face. “Albert’s son?”

Aleysia seemed to chew on the thought for a moment, before she turned to Father, smiling. “Yes, Father. Joseph Marowe. Albert’s son. Who’s probably long dead now.”

“What did Sacton Crain mean by incestuous ?” he prodded.

“Oh you know how he likes to throw out accusations. He called you a heretic, and you are perhaps the most devout man I know. To a fault.”

Father frowned and nodded. “True. He was a terrible Sacton.”

A twinge of guilt needled me, but I thought back to Zevander’s words while we were training about not always needing to be empathetic. Sacton Crain had murdered my mother, after all. If nothing else, his death served as atonement for hers. I jerked my head. “C’mon, let’s go pack some things.”

The three of us exited the library into a short corridor that led toward the temple’s main chapel.

“Are you certain about this one, Maevyth?” Father asked, as we crossed through the temple. “Your…companion. I feel like he’s hiding something.”

“You’ve gleaned that after a whole evening with the man, Father?

” Aleysia chuckled. “Not that I’m defending him, mind you.

While I will give him credit for the incredible entrance yesterday, the fact is, his timing was a bit off if you ask me.

And if he hadn’t run off in the first place, we wouldn’t have gotten swiped up by Sacton Crain. ”

I slowed my pace, frowning after her. “You are the reason we were in that undercroft.”

“Yes, and good thing, too,” she spat over her shoulder. “Father would’ve starved to death down there, and we’d have never known.”

“We are arguing in circles here.”

“You’re arguing. I’m merely clarifying.”

I growled in frustration. “To answer your question, Father, yes. I trust him.”

“I should hope so. This journey will be long and fraught with dangers, as it is.”