Page 29

REED

Dulce slept on, her lips slightly parted. Reed recalled the night before, and the desire to remain with her in this wagon, to feel her quake beneath his touch once more, intensified.

Reluctantly tearing himself from her side, Reed left the wagon and took in his surroundings in the light of day.

The expanse of Silver Birch Straits loomed above the wide valley, the tree’s white leaves like snow-covered mountains at this distance.

To the north lay the barren wasteland of the Rust Fields, its wide canyons resembling open wounds along the reddish earth for as far as the eye could see .

Looking to the west, full of green life, where towns crowded with people waited to venture out to watch the opera performers, the temptation to avoid danger dragged at his heart, and Reed pushed it aside.

Everything would be destroyed anyway, if they failed to reverse the witch’s destruction.

“You headed north?”

Reed started, surprised to find an ancient woman sitting in a chair outside the neighboring wagon, watching the sunrise as she smoked a pipe, its bluish smoke joining the misty air with the cloying aroma of cloves and tobacco leaves.

“I wouldn’t pass through the Rust Fields again,” she stated, coughing. “Not if you offered me the world’s weight in gold.”

“That bad, huh?” Reed found that rather than filling him with dread, her words only served to awaken his curiosity.

“Worse.”

“Really?” He sat next to her stool, the cool grass beneath him as the sun rose farther into the sky, the mist along the valley dispersing like smoke from her pipe. “What if one has no other choice?”

She squinted toward the Rust Fields, exhaling smoke. “Then you’ll die if you don’t have enough fire. Fire is the key to keeping the warped away.”

“The warped?” At that, Reed had to admit to some measure of unease. Yet perhaps it wasn’t as grim as it sounded.

“Decaying magic has twisted the creatures of that place,” the old woman said. “They are no longer as they should be. They have become something of nightmares. They hunger. Only their fear of fire keeps them at bay.”

That most definitely sounded grim .

“How did you survive the journey before?” Reed asked. “That is … you mentioned you wouldn’t pass through it again .”

Dulce, her cloak wrapped firmly around her shoulders, joined them in silence, her eyes filled with concern as she studied the woman carefully, clearly having heard every word the crone had uttered.

“We blindfolded our horses.” The woman nodded. “And we brought as much fire as we could. Alchemists’ fire works best. Those who held ordinary torches, well…” she sniffed. “They died in the darkness, didn’t they? I still hear their screams in my dreams.”

Reed glanced at Dulce, the blood drained from her face.

“Can one traverse it in a day?” she asked. “To avoid the darkness, I mean.”

The woman burst into laughter, a high-pitched cackle that sent a chill along Reed’s spine, before falling into a coughing fit.

They waited for her coughs to subside. “There is no avoiding the darkness in the Rust Fields,” the crone replied.

“Its canyons are so deep and narrow, sunlight has hardly a chance to wink down into its red dust before it’s swallowed up in shadow.

And those foolish enough to believe they could pass along its surface soon find that their only choice is retreat or fall to their deaths. ”

Footfalls at their back, Reed turned to discover a group of performers crowding around them. The little girls, Yunis and Thyme, held pitchers with carved stoppers and thin necks out to Dulce .

“We heard you’re passing through the Rust Fields,” Yunis chirped.

“Yes.” Dulce stood to face them, her determination leaving no room for argument, and Reed felt a swell of pride at her bravery.

With a nod from their mother, the girls handed over the pitchers. “We thought,” Thyme said. “That is, you will need this oil more than us. We can purchase all we need in the village. Once tickets begin to sell…”

Dulce pressed gold coins into their hands. “Please,” she insisted. “For all of your kindness.”

No one spoke much during breakfast, stealing sympathetic glances at Reed and Dulce as they ate. He was certain they were all sure they watched the condemned.

Afterward, Dulce excused herself to pore over her spell book and collect mysterious things from a nearby field, while Reed accepted amulets from the elderly of the troupe, trinkets they insisted kept evil away.

The fire jugglers sold Reed four of their ropes, the tallest one mournfully informing him, “We’re not sure how long the flames will last. We’ve never used them for longer than a few hours.”

They then instructed him how to best use the oil along their weighted ends. Reed overpaid them, but under the circumstances, it was only fitting. After today, they may not need coin ever again.

A few of the men offered to lather their horses in a clay, alum, and salt solution, explaining that this would act as a heat shield along their coats and tails. They also tied sacks of the same mixture to their saddles.

“I suggest you cover yourselves with it as well,” the man with long black hair told them as Dulce returned, having fashioned blindfolds from leather she attached across the animals’ bridles.

It was three hours past dawn by the time they departed from their new companions, and, looking like painted warriors about to enter battle, they crossed the valley and faced the Rust Fields alone.

Sweeping his gaze across the expansive waste as far as the eye could see, Reed reached for Dulce’s hand, reminiscing the night they’d spent together in the wagon once more, their easy conversation, the taste of her lips, the feel of her soft flesh against his hand, the sound of her moans.

“No regrets,” he said. “No matter what happens.”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “No regrets.”

The earth was dyed the rusty brown-orange of oxidized iron, its crevices like giant mud cracks.

Reed believed he mirrored a small insect in a vast desert as they wound their way downward into the looming shadows of the canyon.

Their map indicated in no uncertain terms that there was but a single passage through the Rust Fields, all others leading to death, no end to their twisted mazes.

“Luckily alchemists who traveled before us have lined our path with rocks painted in a photoluminescent coating,” Dulce pointed out as the first of a neat row of skull-sized stones came into view.

When the shadows deepened, the stones held a light of their own, glowing in the gathering darkness.

Reed peered at them. “They aren’t … skulls, are they?”

One of her black brows perfectly arched. “Do you really want the answer to that question, Mr. Hawthorne?”

Reed thought about how many men would’ve had to die in order to line leagues of canyon floor with their bones and decided it was better to remain a mystery.

Movement along the sheer cliff caught his eye then, vanishing as he turned. Reed held his reins tighter, urging his horse closer to Dulce’s.

“Your spell book has answers to our fire problem, yes?” Though she’d told him creating fire would pose no significant hindrance to them. “Shouldn’t now be a good time to maybe, oh, I don’t know, implement said measures?”

Dulce seemed unbothered by the increasing movement around them, even as the unmistakable sounds of scratching echoed from above.

Reed refused to look, focusing instead on exuding calm for the sake of his horse, whose ears pinned when the animal’s gait moved from a walk to a trot.

“Ah, but fire still requires fuel,” she noted, leaning to unhook one of the jars from her saddle while she rode, lifting the length of rope soaked in a mysterious concoction she wore around her shoulders into her right hand.

He mimicked her movements until he held his rope, prepared to light its end with hers and swing it above his head as they’d planned.

“Alchemy and magic assist us, but if we aren’t careful, our fire will run out of fuel. ”

He made the mistake of glancing to his right as blood-tinged sand fell in sheets from a ledge, to find a row of glowing eyes.

“It’s … rodents,” he said, frowning. “How dangerous can they really b— ”

“Those aren’t rodents,” Dulce murmured, concentrating on her task. “I take it those are the warped creatures the performer mentioned.”

Of course they were … Reed’s brow furrowed in the gathering darkness, wondering if they may have once been common stoat, hare, or marmot. Could there be warped humans within these vast canyons? He tightened his fists at the thought.

A dark cloud moved over the narrow horizon, swooping toward them at astonishing speed.

Dulce gasped and ignited the end of her rope, where a weighted pouch burst into unnaturally wide flames, sparks dancing along its base in purple and blue.

“Warped locusts,” she hissed, reaching across the space between their horses to set off Reed’s flame as the cloud descended on them, the insects crashing into the narrow cliffs at their sides. Dulce kicked her horse into a canter, a halo of fire above her distracting them while she swung the rope.

Reed followed suit, his pulse racing as the warped locusts screeched around them, the sound of their fury filling his ears until he thought he would go mad with it.

They continued like that, awakening the slumbering, warped creatures while they went, the glowing stones guiding their way, the flames above them keeping the monsters at bay.

And then Dulce’s horse tripped, stalling to a trembling standstill. Reed watched in horror as she flew from her saddle, mud-covered skirts sailing around her as if in slow motion, to land in the rusty sand, her flame guttering out to darkness.

Snapping his reins, Reed skidded to a halt, one leg over his saddle and to the ground, he gathered the two horses’ in one hand, flames circling above him in the other, and rushed to Dulce.

Creatures swarmed her from all sides, biting and tearing at her clothing as she frantically swatted them away.

Seeing them this closely, Reed recoiled.

Warped was exactly the word to describe them.

Where once they had been fur-covered harmless creatures of the desert and mountain planes, now they were twisted abominations.

Magic, rotted and dying, had transformed them into hideous, carnivorous shells of their former selves—rows of teeth, jagged claws, and biting tentacles along their spines, eyes crazed with hunger as they screamed beneath Reed’s flame, falling back into the shadows.

Dulce scrambled to retrieve her rope, reigniting the flame at its end with shaking hands. Meeting her gaze, Reed’s heart leapt to his throat at the fear he saw painted there. He wanted nothing but to wash the expression from her face.

“Think of the stories of great adventure we’ll be able to tell,” he professed.

“Oh yes.” Dulce smiled, and Reed’s pulse raced at the sight. “We’ll leave out the heroine falling gracelessly on her face though, please.” She clasped his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

“That will be our little secret.”

When the sky far above them matched the shadows of the canyon, they stopped to feed the horses and give them water, taking turns keeping a steady wall of spinning fire above them. Reed’s arm ached, though he switched from left to right when the pain became too vexing.

How much longer could they keep this up? Surely, they must be almost through this torture by now.

“You should eat,” Dulce uttered, handing Reed something he hardly bothered to look at before he stuffed them into his mouth. The sweet nuts and dried fruit instantly drove his strength up.

There was nowhere to tie the horses, surrounded only by sand and smooth rock, and so they had no way of stopping to sleep, even if Dulce’s talents allowed them to surround themselves with a protective circle of fire.

The thought of holding Dulce in his arms again, kissing her lips, touching her skin, was enough to push him to keep going.

“It can’t be much farther.” She met his eyes as if she’d read his thoughts.

An especially large boar lunged at them, startling the horses. Reed swung flames at it until the creature retreated into the shadows, its ribs exposed beneath rows of fangs.

“How could anyone do this?” Dulce asked, studying the moving shadows beyond their circle of firelight. “What purpose does this cruelty serve? I don’t understand…”

Reed brought his horse close to hers, and he lifted her chin with his forefinger, wishing he could throw down the torch to embrace her instead. “We’ll find the light in the darkness. I promise I won’t leave your side.”

“A perfect line to add to our adventurous story, Mr. Hawthorne.” The grief in her expression slowly gave way to determination.

Their flames replenished by the significantly lighter pitchers, they continued their way, keeping the horses at a slower pace, letting them walk for spells.

Reed ignored his exhaustion as the night wore on, his arms long since going numb by the time the sky above was painted in struggling light.

They had gathered an enormous crowd of creatures by then, keeping pace with them along the canyon floor, maintaining their distance from the flames, waiting for the moment they would flicker and go out.

Waiting for their meal.

By midday, when a moment of sunlight shone down onto them, illuminating the sand beneath their horses’ hooves in bright red, Dulce came to a halt before him, her head down.

“Reed,” she whispered, shaking the pitcher by its delicate neck. “We’re down to the last of it.”

He peered ahead, seeing no end to their passage.

“We need to divide it between us…”

“You mean…” Reed swallowed. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”

“We need to ignite the mixture on ourselves when our ropes begin to die out and gallop the rest of the way.”

He cocked his head. “We won’t burn?” Flames licking away his skin wasn’t the loveliest way to spend the day.

“We’ll soon find out.” Dulce poured the last of the alchemical oil onto their ropes one after the other as they took turns keeping flames spinning endlessly above them.

“We’re dead if we don’t try, regardless.” Reed winked at her, one side of his mouth curving upward, as he prepared to kick his horse into a canter. “No regrets, remember?”