Page 67

That I Hit

T he horn blasts. High and sharp, tearing through the fog and silence.

Several sparks pass before the sound fades. Several breaths. Several heartbeats. I stay low, crouched at the edge of the trail, one foot forward. Ready. Waiting. The sound still rings in my ears.

Dawn has passed, but there’s no sun. The mist clings to the ground like a heavy, cottony veil. Jungle limbs stretch across the trail, nearly sealing it shut, tangled and algae-green, thick with secrets. What’s waiting for us in there? Will I be strong enough to face it?

Come on. Let me run.

“Number twelve, Iszaelda Vínnoel!”

I break into motion. My shoes are too tight, stiff and uncomfortable.

The moment I’m out of sight, they’re coming off.

I haven’t run far, yet it already feels like I’m deep in the heart of the jungle. The air is thick with scent, sharp, fresh, and alive. It floods my nostrils with the rich, earthy musk of rain-soaked soil, a smell that doesn’t just linger but settles on the tongue.

The jungle is quiet. The usual sounds of life feel distant, muffled, as if the creatures have chosen to stay hidden in their burrows, unwilling to greet the day.

Where I run, others have already run. Everything I do has already been done. Waiting in Nimuala was a test of its own, a full day spent with Acranta’s voice in my ear, never once pausing. She spoke of everything: the night, the ceremony, her pounding head, the trials.

They staggered our departures by three tales. It’s aftendawn, and I’ve only had time to relax during a single story.

I steal a glance over my shoulder. The jungle looms tall and dense, and the pale trail winds back through the trees.

No one is watching. I tear off the leather shoes, one by one. I tug. Yank. Hop on one foot. Rip them loose. I fling them into the underbrush, where the wild swallows them whole, hides them and claims them.

My hand brushes through bright green leaves. They crackle, rustle. Water beads burst against my fingers, leaving them cool and damp.

Then I run. The forest floor is firm beneath my bare feet, packed tight, grounding me.

Now I can run properly. Arms pumping, I surge forward into the mist. It’s thinner but still thick enough to blur the way ahead. I can only see six elven-lengths at a time. With each breath, it wraps around my throat, slow and suffocating, draining energy.

Pale and clouded, the sky slips through gaps in the jungle’s thick roof.

On days like this, the forest feels awake. Alive with magic.

The yellow flags, placed two tales apart, line the path’s edges. So far, I’m still on track.

I pull the borrowed bow tighter against my back and pat Voenriel at my side. I’m running at a steady pace. I could push harder, but I need to save my strength. I have no idea what kind of challenges lie ahead.

Most of all, I don’t?—

It comes at me. Whistling, flying, and rushing in from the corner of my right eye. I throw myself sideways. Duck, roll across the ground. Roots dig into my elbows, into my knees. I draw Voenriel, raising her defensively toward the stranger.

A star elf in black, face veiled by a dark scarf. I can’t see who she is. Likely a master. Female.

She lands with a dull thud. Her movements are smooth, and her frame is lean and low. She strikes with a thin windblade. Fast, frantic, relentless.

No time to think. I meet every blow, all my weight behind each counter. My breath is heavy. I block. I meet. I push.

Clang. Crash. Clang. Parry. Parry. Parry.

The strikes are hard, rough, and unrelenting.

Arms up! Down! There, catch it! Clang! The mist clings to my throat like physical fingers. Nipping, squeezing, choking, pressing. It’s hard to focus. It’s hard to fight. It’s hard to breathe.

We circle each other, blades ringing, bare feet slipping over twigs and undergrowth. I need to bring her down. Make her lose. Make her fall.

Now! I can’t afford to mess this up. I don’t want to die.

I run. Away, down the wide trail. I use the spring in my legs, the grip of bare feet against packed earth. I run like I’m fleeing. Like I’m scared. Like I’m weak. And she follows right behind me.

Exactly as planned. Wearing soft cloth shoes. Foolish.

I stop.

Spin.

The star elf lunges forward with a battle cry, her scarf snapping in the air. I drop low and roll beneath her legs, once, twice. Gone before she lands. I pivot, grab her shoulder, and sweep her legs out from under her with my heel.

She falls with a scream. I press my foot to her chest and hold her down. Voenriel’s blade to her throat. Dripping. Humming. Steady.

She breathes hard and rips off the scarf. White hair tumbles free, steel-gray eyes locking onto mine. Kes’raa. On the ground. Beaten. Hair streaked with dirt and leaves.

“Textbook work, Iszaelda. You can release me.”

I step back reluctantly, slide Voenriel into its sheath, and take one pace away.

Kes’raa and Netharu’el are too close for me to trust her.

“I passed?”

“You did. Keep going and take the right path at the fork.”

She doesn’t need to ask twice. I bolt forward, breath ragged, heart pounding like a frantic woodpecker.

When the trail curves, I follow her instructions without thinking.

The terrain shifts quickly. It becomes thicker, overgrown, and harsher with every stride.

The path narrows, winding through unruly green.

Thorns scratch at my sides, vines slap my cheeks, and twigs bite at the soles of my feet. They’re spread across the ground like a coarse living carpet.

Has anyone reached the finish yet? And where is Netharu’el?

Will he ambush me as Kes’raa did? He’s so skilled I hope I won’t have to face him.

Then again, I’m aware of his weaknesses.

I’ve studied them. His right side is slower to defend, and he flinches if a blade comes too close to his right eye.

And more than anything, I know he can be shaken by the unexpected. Surprise will be my advantage.

Something ahead doesn’t look right.

I squint into the mist. The trees, a mix of towering kapok trees with roots as wide as huts and oenocarpus palms with broad, fern-like fronds, end abruptly. Their trunks form a straight line that stretches in both directions. And the path ends with them. Vanishing into nothing.

Only when I get closer do I see the reason: the cliff.

It’s deep. Twelve elven-lengths down into a chasm lined with long, sharp spikes spread across the bottom. Ready to skewer me.

I flinch. There’s something down there.

Is it an elf?

It’s hard to make out, partly because the figure is so dark, like shadow itself, and partly because of the mist.

I swallow and bite my lower lip, my toes dangling over the edge. Dust and gravel trickle down, and everything is silent. Dead silent.

The mist is so thick I can’t tell whether the ground continues on the other side. I lean forward, downward.

Try to see. Better.

Yes, it’s an elf—a star elf. I can see the ears sticking up above the head. And it’s not a skeleton. This elf died today.

Who is it?

What if it’s… Acranta, or Fax, or?—

“Sun elf.”

I jump. Draw my bow. One arrow nocked to the string. Two more tucked beneath my little finger. Ready. Prepared. Alert. In case I need to fire again fast.

“Welcome.”

The voice comes from above. I spin, aiming the bow upward.

Up. Left. Right. Forward. Behind. I find nothing. No source. No one…

“No arrow can strike us.”

The voice echoes around me. Vast, resonant, ancient.

Archaic. As if the jungle itself is speaking.

“No arrow can kill us.”

“I see,” I growl. “What do you want? Who are you?”

“We’re no one.”

“Oh, come on?—”

“We’re part of Gorgoroth. We’re the trees she walks beneath. The breath she drinks so eagerly. The soil she walks upon with hunger.”

“Spirits?”

“We have many names. Spirits is one of them. Forest spirits.”

I lower the bow and step back until my spine brushes the cliff’s edge.

I stare into the trees. The foliage is a deep olive green, shrouded beneath thick banks of white mist.

“What do you want?”

A breeze catches my hair, tossing it around my cheeks.

But the air around me is still.

“She’ll be given three riddles. With each correct answer, a piece of the bridge will form. Only with the full bridge can she cross.”

“Then let’s begin.”

“As she wishes.”

Silence falls again. I glance around, watching the thick, milky mist.

If I can’t solve the riddles… maybe there’s a vine I can use?

No, it doesn’t look like it. The kapok trees stretch far over the ravine, their leafy crowns hanging high above. The roots are massive, sagging like melted wax or overrisen dough. If the branches are strong enough, I might be able to climb and swing across.

The voice returns, but this time, it’s different. It’s hissing, stiff, and layered. Echoing, multiplied, it sounds as if dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands, are speaking in perfect sync.

“She’s never existed and yet always will. No one’s seen her, but all will, in time. Who is she?”

“No idea,” I mutter, sinking between the roots of a kapok tree. I dig my toes deep into the soft forest soil. “What happens if I get it wrong?”

“If she fails once, nothing happens. If she fails twice, nothing happens. If she fails three times… she’ll be pushed into the abyss.”

“Wonderful.”

Someone who doesn’t exist, someone who does… Someone who doesn’t yet exist but will. A child? One that hasn’t been born?

But she won’t always exist. The child will die eventually unless she’s a star elf. They can live forever.

Yes! A star elf.

I straighten.

“A star elf child.”

“Incorrect.”

“Excuse me?”

“The future. That’s the correct answer.”

“You’re joking.”

“She must now fly the final stretch across the chasm. But first, she must answer two more riddles.”

How in the fires am I supposed to cross?

Netharu’el and I trained for many things, but riddles weren’t among them. How can this possibly be necessary?

“The more she takes, the more she leaves behind.”

I immediately think of the tracks in the snow I grew up with.

“Footsteps!”

Everything explodes. Cracking, roaring, screaming.

A massive tree trunk crashes down like a steam-black shadow of death. It falls straight at me. Roaring, shrieking, rumbling.

I throw myself to the side, just in time. Barely escaping before the trunk obliterates the spot where I was sitting. I rise to my feet in the middle of the path. Panting. Gasping. Head pounding.

I stare at the tree lying at my feet. It stretches into the mist, so far I can’t see where it ends.

“Correct answer, sun elf.”

“Thought so.”

“Last question. She’s light as a feather, made of nothing, yet not even the strongest star elf can hold her for more than a few songs.”

I close my eyes and picture myself cupping my hands, trying to hold on to something that doesn’t exist. Something made of nothing.

How is that even possible?

Instead of imagining it, I do it for real, raising my hands and looking down at my palms. I could be holding… water. It slips through your fingers and is hard to hold on to. But it’s not as light as a feather. It has weight.

I curl my fingers and reach out to the air.

Air.

But… why would anyone try to hold air? What is the point of that?

Doesn’t matter. That must be the answer.

No… wait.

What do we need air for?

To breathe.

Yes!

“Breath! Not even the strongest elf can hold it forever.”

There’s another bang, not as loud as the previous one.

The trunk creaks, groans, and stretches longer, extending across the chasm bit by bit. Several sparks pass before the sound fades.

“Correct answer, sun elf. You’re clever but not clever enough. The bridge doesn’t reach all the way. Good luck.”

I start to climb. It takes six elven-lengths before I reach the top. It’s wide. I don’t have to be careful. I break into a steady jog and hurry forward. The bark is rough but solid. There’s no danger of falling.

It takes an entire song to reach the end of the tree.

Branches, leaves, and twigs are everywhere, and a tangled chaos reaches out over the chasm but never quite touches the other side.

Just like the spirits said, a significant gap remains. At least ten elven-lengths. The far side is visible. The mist is thinner there. I stand atop the treetop, surrounded by the upper limbs of the tree. A twisting maze of branches. I grab one and balance on another.

“Ve ge!”

The trunk vibrates beneath me. Creaks. But nothing happens.

“Ve ge!”

This time, I put more force behind the words, imagining the branches curling forward, stretching to reach the other side.

But again, nothing. Only a useless creaking sound.

“The magic above the ravine is thin. Demonic is useless to a sun elf. Demonic?—”

“Shut up!”

The wind howls and vanishes just as quickly, sending the nearby leaves fluttering.

I close my eyes. Feel the forest. The scents. The stillness. The calm.

Far, far across the chasm, birds chirp. A cry echoes. The swooping beat of a gryphon’s wings. My awareness stretches toward the beast, reaching and welcoming. I fuse our senses and pull it toward me, unwilling or not. Our minds blend. And I feel the gryphon inside me.

His powerful heart beats through his body, wings, and veins, pumping hot blood. The world spreads below us, the jungle canopy unfolding like a gray and green field. Like broccoli beneath cobwebs.

I feel the air beneath the wings, the lift, the wind, the chill.

We descend, gliding between the treetops.

Gaupnir is strong and full of life. He’s heading back to his nest after his usual morning sweep of the area on his way to Frekja. His mate.

I stretch out the enormous and curved talons like a dragon’s.

His chest is covered in hundreds of salt-white feathers, while the hindquarters are bare, bronze-skinned. His feet end in paws, not claws, and his wings are far more extensive than those of a harpy.

At the rear, I flick the elegant tail, slicing the air like a whip.

Our senses blend. And even as the wind brushes through his fur, my fingers are wrapped around the branch beside me. I exist in both places at once. It’s only a matter of songs before we meet.

Controlling both bodies simultaneously is exhausting. The mist has already left me weak. I would rather release Gaupnir’s body back to him, but then… I don’t know what he would do.

I inch along the thin branches, stepping as far as I dare.

And we see each other. I see both the gryphon and myself.

The fear in my eyes. The shock in his. I hold the gryphon’s body in place, wings beating beneath the canopy.

Thump, thump, thump, a heartbeat like a volcano still alive beneath the skin, trembling and bubbling.

I must jump.

Gaupnir won’t come any closer.

Without thinking, I leap. Leaving the branch, hurling myself into the air.

And hope that I make it.