Page 167 of The Cradle of Ice

With a shudder, Daal remembered the rampage of spiders in that other tunnel. He searched up at the glow. It took him an extra breath to recognize what hid up there, what was stirred and alerted by their passage through its web.

Overhead, radiantly glowing worms writhed on thin, jeweled threads. They descended swiftly along those cords or simply dropped headlong.

One struck his upturned face. His cheek ignited with fire, as if lanced by a flaming brand. He hollered and picked the burning worm off his blistered skin and tossed it into the water. The splash rippled away the mirrored illusion. The offending worm still shone as it wriggled into the depths. Bones lay strewn along the bottom. A hollow-eyed skull stared up at him, its jaw forever open.

His left ear again erupted with that agonized scream.

He now knew where that cry had risen from.

In less than a breath, a furious cascade of the worms fell upon the boat, squirming through the air or swinging on those sticky, dew-dropped threads. Screams and bellows erupted from the others. He tried to protect Nyx with his own body. But the worms were everywhere, an inescapable storm of fire.

Even the water offered no refuge.

Neffa and Mattis dove deep with the first stinging burn, but the worms pursued them even in the depths, their touch still as agonizing. Maddened by the pain, the orksos fled in different directions. Neffa tried to retreat to the safety behind them. Mattis fought to drive ahead. The skiff spun in the middle of this tussle, keeping everyone trapped under the fiery assault.

Shiya boomed, “Overboard! In the water!”

Daal didn’t understand, knowing there was no escape that way. Still, as others rolled over the rails, he followed, hoping the water would cool his score of burns.

It did not—if anything, it inflamed those spots.

“Stay together!” Shiya yelled as she splashed in with them.

As she did, she sank quickly until her feet struck bones. Only her forearms and hands were above water. She crossed to the skiff and lifted it higher, demonstrating her considerable strength. As she did, she kept it balanced evenly.

Graylin was the first to understand the bronze woman’s intent. “Get under its keel!” he bellowed.

Daal kicked and paddled through the fire until he was able to duck beneath the makeshift shield. Everyone crowded close. Even Neffa and Mattis. Daal rubbed a palm along the orksos’ flanks and shifted their horns to keep them from impaling anyone.

Once everyone was sheltered, Shiya set off across the grotto. They followed with her, staying under that shield. Worms still struck the skiff, but they found no more flesh to burn.

After a time, the glowing lair faded behind them. Soon, the only light came from the firepot up top. In the dark, the worms abandoned the skiff in droves, rolling and squirming to escape. Once in the water, they wiggled a glowing path back toward their grotto.

Daal and the others waited until they were gone, then clambered back into the skiff. They were blistered and in agony, but before attending to their injuries, they shifted the skiff over to a shelf of ice that allowed Shiya to climb up and rejoin them.

“Thanks,” Graylin said to her as she settled into the stern.

Shiya simply nodded.

Vikas slipped out a healer’s satchel from her gear. She rummaged through it and removed a small jar. Her strong hands broke the wax seal and opened the lid. A sweet scent wafted off a thick ointment inside. She lifted it and motioned with flicks of her wrists and long fingers.

“Almskald,” Nyx said, interpreting the gestures for Daal. “It should cool the burn and settle the blistering.”

The jar was passed around. Daal dabbed the ointment on his fiery cheek. He exhaled as the balm doused the worst of the heat. He attended to his many other blistered spots, as did the others. He even called Neffa and Mattis closer and slathered the thick gel over their wounds. Neffa’s flanks shivered with relief. She tossed her horn high in gratitude and bumped her father, regaining some of her happy composure.

As Daal settled back, taking up the skiff’s reins, he saw Nyx staring at a deeply blistered spot on the back of her hand. It looked to be the worst of her wounds. Her expression was pensive and worried. And he knew why. He recognized the scar it would leave.

He had seen it already.

While communed together, he had shared her vision of moonfall in all its bloody terror. He could picture her hand lifted, missing a finger. She had carried many scars to that mountaintop; one of them lay at that exact same spot on her hand. It was as if her prophetic dream were slowly and inexorably coming to life, marking her body as it did so, bringing her a step closer to the doom forecast in that vision.

Once everyone had dealt with their burns, Graylin pointed ahead. “We should keep going.”

Nyx lowered her hand and nodded, as if acknowledging the necessity of this journey—and the greater one ahead of her.

Daal got the orksos situated in their harnesses and set off along the remainder of this side route. No one spoke, too daunted and tired. In the silence, a new noise slowly rose ahead of them. It started as a distant whistling, a haunting, continual note. Then as they swept forward, it grew into a perpetual howling.

“It sounds like the wind,” Graylin noted.