Page 35

Of What Hunts You

I tear through the undergrowth, leaping, crawling, twisting.

Dodging the claws, I dive to the side, but I’m too slow. Searing pain flares through my thigh and calf. I grit my teeth, lunge for the roots, and steady myself as the sun beats down, biting into my skin. My breath comes heavy and ragged. My gaze sweeps the jungle, searching.

Sesta, help me!

Arephna, give me strength!

Afryea, grant me ? —

No .

I’ve left the goddesses behind.

The beast claws at the roots, paws flailing as it tries to pull itself up.

I jump back, then stop, one step at a time.

Think, think, think!

How do I escape?

Move backward. Feel for the tree. Slowly. My fingers brush the rough bark; some patches are sharp and thorned.

I must climb. Faster. Now!

I scramble upward, gripping the trunk, legs pushing against the rough surface.

I risk a glance down.

The cat bursts free from the tangle of roots and leaps into the open. Its black-and-nutbrown speckled fur glistens like polished steel in the sunlight. It prowls in tight circles below, powerful and fluid, muscles shifting beneath its sleek coat. Fangs curved, glinting.

What’s that creature?

Some kind of big cat.

But which one?

It hisses, baring its teeth, pressing its front paws against the trunk. Its head tilts upward, slightly askew. Challenging.

Oh, no, no, no! Stay down!

Then it leaps, springing sideways and racing up the tree as if gravity doesn’t exist. The trunk quivers and shudders, creaking under its weight.

I twist, changing direction and scrambling higher.

Faster! Climb! Forget the thorns. Forget the pain.

Bark scrapes my knees. The cat’s breath is hot on my heels.

I can’t die. Not yet! I won’t be eaten, I won’t?—

A paw flies toward me, filling my vision the moment I glance back. It slams into me, driving the air from my lungs.

I seize its fur. Grip tightly. Tighter, tighter, tighter, my fists tangled in coarse hair.

The beast leaps, its body weightless for a heartbeat, dragging me down.

I scramble up its body, shifting my grip repeatedly until I reach its neck. I bury myself there. Holding on.

Fur in my hands. Skin against muscle. Feet braced.

Waiting for the impact.

We hit the ground hard. The earth shudders, groaning beneath us.

My legs slip, flung backward, but I hold on.

The fur beneath me bucks, trying to shake me loose. But I don’t let it. I won’t.

Exhausted, I sink into the thick pelt, my feet finding their grip again. Pressed flat against its body, I feel the beast’s massive heartbeat, the surge of blood rushing through its veins, gurgling, flowing like a waterfall.

What now, cat?

It thrashes beneath me, muscles coiling as it bolts into the jungle.

Away from the safety of the path.

Into the shadows.

Into the wild, overgrown mass of roots, moss, branches, and tangled undergrowth.

Vines drape over everything, thick and endless. Monkeys swing through the canopy, pausing to stare. Laughing.

I press myself against the beast’s fur, clinging tight to avoid being thrown off. “Stop!”

The movement ripples beneath me, its heat searing, alive, powerful, untamed, like the spiders.

I try to reach it, push past the surface, and grasp its mind.

Come on!

I’ve never spoken to creatures this large.

Only the small ones. Beetles. Ants. Spiders.

Not even elk or blackbirds.

And this cat is far bigger than both.

But then I’ve never tried.

I’ve always let the conversations come to me reluctantly and unwillingly, never the one to reach out, never wanting to.

Never practiced. Never even attempted.

“Cat!” I scream, my voice straining to rise above the thunder of its pounding paws. “Listen to me!”

No response.

I press my head against its skin, attuning to the sounds within.

The steady pulse of its heart. The ripple of shifting muscles. The deep, rhythmic swell of breath filling its lungs.

I force myself to align with it. To surrender to the rhythm.

Calm. Still.

I let go, drifting beyond the monkeys’ chatter, beyond the tangled jungle.

I open my senses to their fullest, stretching them to the limit.

After a while, something shifts.

A sensation brushes the edge of my awareness. Scraping. Beckoning.

I reach for it, feeling it unravel.

And then everything ignites.

It’s as if I’m the one racing across the earth. I’m the one making the ground rumble beneath me.

I’m the one licking my lips.

The ground blurs into a rushing streak. Claws tear through the grass, snapping twigs with the same sharp crack of splintering bone.

At the same time, I see the cat’s ears flick ahead, feel the wind pulling at its fur, and hear it whistling through the strands.

Two places at once.

Disorienting.

What’s happening?

And I’m hungry, a deep, ravenous hunger. I crave food. Meat.

I inhale. A scent floods my senses, rich, intoxicating, right behind me.

No! That’s me.

I blink hard and shake my head. But we’re still moving.

Stop! How do I sever this connection?

“Stop!”

We stop, and I let out a slow breath.

I force distance between us, pushing the cat’s mind aside. Not gone, just quieter, no longer overwhelming.

My fingers tighten around the fur beneath them.

Now only I am moving.

But the beast still lingers inside me.

Through some unseen thread, some instinct woven deeper than thought, I can still feel the leaves crunching beneath its heavy paws.

“Can you hear me?” I ask softly, careful not to speak too loudly.

Seventeen sun cycles ago, an accident damaged Mistrani’s eardrum.

How do I know that?

“I can hear you,” he replies, his voice deep and rich, low.

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

“What?”

“This… I don’t know. I can feel you.”

“Once.”

A memory surfaces within me.

He shares his mind with someone. Someone standing just beyond him, pulling the strings and forcing him to do terrible things.

I shudder.

The image flickers and fades before I can hold onto it, more emotion than clarity, a rush of feelings, thoughts, and fragmented impressions slipping through my grasp.

Mistrani had been confused then. Frightened. Trapped in panic.

But this time is different.

This time, he understands.

“Do you know what it means?” I whisper.

“No.” He scratches his belly. It feels good. Right there. Oh. Yes.

“Neither do I.”

We stand there for a while. Silent. Feeling the edges of each other’s minds.

“I need to go back. Can you find your way to the Academy?”

He turns and moves forward. I cling to him, wrapping my legs around his sides and leaning back against him.

He belongs here—Gorgoroth has been his home for as long as he can remember.

And he remembers much. His life has been long, rich, and filled with moments that now flicker through my mind like gusts of wind.

But there’s too much, too fast, and I let most of it slip past without grasping the details.

After all this, I feel a strange bond with Mistrani. Not as if we’re soulmates or even kin. It’s more like we understand each other, as if we’ve shared something inexplicable. We’ll remember each other with reverence. With respect.

I slip into Mistrani’s eyes and savor the rush of freedom. Sun warming fur, muscles coiled with energy, joints brimming with power. So much endurance. So much strength.

And I let our legs carry us forward.

“And where, in Bel’Akra’s name, have you been?”

I brace my hands against my knees. Trembling.

Shaking. My breath is ragged. I collapse at Netharu’el’s feet.

My head pounds, my mind split in two, half of it severed, absent.

It feels wrong, unnatural. Nausea churns inside me.

Hunger gnaws at my core. I need food. Meat.

Juicy, dripping meat, crushed between my teeth, slick and rich as it slides down?—

“Iszaelda!”

The world shifts. Sideways, upward, downward, backward. It crushes me and spins me, though I’m lying still on the ground.

The sky is clear, cloudless. So blue. Spinning somehow. I don’t know how. Maybe it’s?—

“What’s happening to you?”

Netharu’el shakes me and rolls me onto my back, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumbs press under my eyes. He looks down, then slaps my cheeks. Once. Twice. Again and again.

It hurts. Stop!

I lift my hand, curling my fingers. Nails. Where are the claws?

I lash out, aiming to scratch Netharu’el, but stop myself. It feels wrong. Why?

He vanishes. Where is he? Hello?

Give me food! Meat. Mmm. Juicy, dripping meat.

My nails are long. I rake them across the sky. Hard. No marks. Why?

Water splashes in my face.

“What are you doing?” I snarl, pushing myself up and locking eyes with Netharu’el. “What in all of Saxx’s fires are you doing?”

I’m back. My mind is sharp, my head pounding. A headache so fierce I could vomit.

But I’m myself.

I’m Iszaelda, standing at the edge of Gorgoroth, cobblestones pressing against my toes. My body is coated in dirt and tangled with bits of plants, and my calves are no longer flesh-colored but stained ocher-brown. Wet and muddy. My eyelashes sag under the weight of grime.

The sun hangs high in the sky, marking midday, blazing over the landscape around me. It spills light over the passage of elf-height trees in the garden, over the Hopea and Shorea plants, over Netharu’el’s dark skin and the thick tree line stretching far to the right.

The tree line that separates the clearing from the dark. From the beasts. From the damp, heavy air.

What have I gotten myself into?

What would’ve happened if I’d stayed longer?

Would I have been trapped inside Mistrani’s mind?

Netharu’el’s hands clamp onto my shoulders. His touch burns where his fingers press, slipping against the wetness.

“What happened to you?”

I meet his bottomless eyes. He watches me, assessing me suspiciously.

“I… met a panther.”

His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, before he finally says, “I can see that.”

“It took me a while to break free… to run.”

His grip remains firm, grounding rather than suffocating. Perhaps it’s the dampness, or maybe it’s the sweat and water soaking my skin. Or am I still trapped in the haze of shock?

“Two daytimes and a history. Next time, move faster.”

“You’re talking about the time when I could have died?”

He grins, lips pulled taut over his cheeks, but the smile never reaches his eyes.

“Gorgoroth is teeming with creatures, most of which are dangerous or venomous. A simple run is bound to land you in an unexpected encounter or two. The real question is how well you handle it, how quickly you recover, and how fast you get back on track.”

I jab a finger against his chest. “And you think you can measure that in time?” My voice sharpens. “Coming back late could just as well mean I have fiery good endurance, couldn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” He releases my shoulders, glances at his hands, and wipes them off on his pants. “But logically, one might assume you spent an entire daytime cowering under a bush, too afraid to be spotted by whatever was hunting you. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

He flicks a hand toward the tangled wilderness spilling out from Gorgoroth. “And since you mentioned the panther, I doubt you’re the kind to let it interrupt your run.”

“Let it?” I laugh, sharp and humorless. “It attacked!”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s all. We’re done talking about it.”