Page 60 of Emily Wilde’s Compendium of Lost Tales (Emily Wilde #3)

In the end, I don’t think I could have stepped forward into that abyss had I not been so certain the king would have killed me if I turned back. So I suppose I have that to thank him for.

“Come, my love,” I said to Shadow. The dog gazed at the Veil with the same vague interest with which he gazed at any faerie door, or at least those that promised a certain variety of smells.

This, too, steadied my resolve. I paused only to draw my scarf up over my mouth and nose and excavate a handkerchief with elaborate silver embroidery from my pocket, which I held out for Shadow to smell.

It had been Queen Arna’s; Niamh had fetched it for me.

I stepped into the Veil with Shadow at my side.

I have never experienced a sandstorm, but I imagine the sensation would be similar. Yet in the Veil, it was less the feeling of sand than of ashes, eternally churned up by a dry, frigid wind. It was strong enough to nearly knock me over, and I adjusted my weight, leaning into it.

Looking around me was futile. The world was too dark to see much, apart from a vague impression of little hills rising about me, and possibly mountains in the distance. I was forced to keep my gaze downturned to protect my eyes from the stinging ashes.

I knew I could not linger long in this place.

It was difficult to breathe, for one thing, and already I felt that sting in my exposed skin and extremities that presages frostbite.

I made every effort to focus on the mundane details—the sensation of my shoes crunching on the ashy sand, my breath whistling through the fabric of my scarf.

Anything to keep my mind off the wasted faerieland unhallowed enough to unnerve even the likes of Lord Taran.

For the most part, it worked. Yes, the place was a horror, but it was like any other horror long anticipated—the reality is never a match for the imagined version, and thus comes almost as a relief.

Shadow turned to me. He had shed his glamour and had grown to at least twice his normal size, his snout distended and his ribs poking through his fur. His eyes flickered like embers—quite unnerving, but also helpful, in that context. He threw back his head and let loose a deathly howl.

I became aware that there had been a great many noises I hadn’t initially noticed, but did now, in the contrasting silence that followed Shadow’s howl.

Skittering, scuttling noises; odd chirps and groans, like some form of prehistoric bird.

I saw nothing alive—or did I? For the darkness seemed to twitch, gathering shape and then fading away.

I told myself that it was just my eyes playing tricks, but I found no comfort in this.

I clambered onto Shadow’s back and wove my fingers through his fur.

“Quickly,” I managed to choke out. Shadow began to run, so swiftly the uneven, half-seen topography passed in a blur.

Each of his strides became a bound, and we covered untold distances.

The dog paused to sniff the ground every once in a while and then we were off again, charging headlong through the impressionistic shadowscape.

The sky was starry, I think, but it hurt too much to look up at it.

Shadow’s paws, when they touched ground, often crunched—on what I never did see, nor cared to.

It wasn’t long before he found her.

Before us was an odd sort of pillar of rock, all protrusions and jagged edges. Atop it was something that resembled a bundle of rags, but I knew better. Shadow gave a satisfied huff that I recognized, even if it had more of a deathly rattle in it than usual.

“Your Highness,” I called, and the bundle of rags stirred.

Queen Arna lifted her head and gazed down upon us, incomprehension in her face—what I could see of it.

It was not only the darkness that obscured her features, but filth, her skin grey from the ashes, her hair a torn and ragged tangle that made her resemble a doll some child had taken scissors to.

She also smelled dreadful, all the more so given the contrast with the uniform scent of desiccation that was all that remained in this world.

She opened her mouth and croaked something, waving her arm.

At first I thought she was trying to attract our attention, as if not fully convinced we’d seen her, but then I heard that uncanny chirping sound to my left.

Shadow lunged at something I never saw, and there was a louder crunch followed by a sort of whistling sound, as of air funneling through a narrow gap.

The darkness twitched all around us and Shadow howled again, a terrible, unending sound that made my mind fill with images of waiting graves.

The darkness was still until the last of the echoes faded. Then there came another chirp, followed by a series of moaning gasps and dry clicking noises.

“They—” The former queen’s voice was too rasping to make out any more. I realized the truth a heartbeat later—whatever these creatures were that haunted this waste, they had surrounded the old queen, who must have clambered up the pillar to escape them.

Shadow howled once more, but the creatures seemed to be mastering their fear of him. The darkness was full of moans and scraping sounds, as of things dragging themselves forward over the sand.

“Jump down!” I hollered.

Scarcely had the words left my mouth, however, than the old queen was acting on them.

She drew herself onto her hands and knees and lurched forward, unbalancing the topmost fragment of rock.

She struck a protrusion as she fell, and the entire thing began to topple.

It was not a pillar of rock, I realized then, but an unwieldy tower of bones.

I could not imagine how the woman had made it to the top in the first place, but such questions were for another time.

She half fell, half tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap at our feet.

At the same moment, something horribly skinny, with jaws as long as my arm, lunged out of the dark and snapped at her hair, wrenching out a hank.

I shrieked and Shadow started back. I just managed to grab hold of the woman’s wrist and yank her half onto Shadow’s back before the dog broke into a run. The bone tower crashed behind us, spilling vertebrae and teeth that clattered after us as if giving chase.

Then we were careening back the way we had come, Shadow filling the wasteland with his howls.

I barely managed to stay on his back, and Arna did not manage it at all—I was able to hook my arm through hers beneath her shoulder, but her legs dangled free, one foot intermittently striking the ground.

Likely I would not have had the strength to maintain my awkward grip, but she had grown skinny as a river reed since we’d shared poisoned wine at her table, and also I was highly motivated not to drop her for fear of having to turn back.

Shadow moved more swiftly on the return journey, though I could not see what he was running towards—either the door was not visible from this side or my eyes were too stung by ash and soot to make it out.

But nothing could deceive Shadow’s nose, and abruptly the smell of decay was replaced by that of forest, and I was falling forward onto snow, taking deep gasps of winter air laced with frost that had never tasted so pleasant.