Page 9
Talysse
B lindfolded, I stumble for a third time. My curse lands in the silence, interrupted only by the steps of my guards, like a rock in a lake. The camp is far behind us, the last remnants of smoke in the warm evening air gone a while ago. The Fae female walking next to me snorts. “You need to learn to move in silence if you want to last longer than ten minutes, human. The Tainted Ones have excellent hearing,” she mocks.
“You try it with a blindfold, Unseelie!” I hiss back. The other soldiers accompanying us in the arduous march through the night forest cackle. I’ve lost track of time, and my legs are surely bruised from all the branches and rocks I’ve walked into. The guides let me do that on purpose to get their share of fun.
Technically, she’s right. Humans don’t have the Unseelie’s sharp night vision, nor their speed and weapon skills, honed by centuries of warfare. What I have is the courage of desperation: the strength of the condemned fighting to flee the scaffold before the ax falls, the strength of a mother dragging her family out of a burning house.
Rough fingers yank my blindfold off, messing up my crown braid. I blink and tuck the loose strands back in while the world around me comes into focus.
A shove in my back sends me flying forward, and just like that, the Unseelie are gone.
I am alone in the Wastelands.
Before me, the tall walls of , silvered by the moonlight, gnaw at the night sky.
Massaging my knee, I look up and gasp. It’s the first time I see the moon and stars without the veil of the Blessed Light Spell. The night sky, an indigo canvas, is studded with shimmering diamonds, each star a testament to the divine. The moon, a solid disk with mysterious symbols engraved on its surface, hangs over the ruins like a magical lantern.
The chill of the night slowly settles over the ancient pavement like a shroud. My heart pounds as I approach the jagged walls of the deserted city. was once the jewel of the continent before the war between Seelie and Unseelie drowned the world in darkness. Nobody remembers how the city fell, but legends of wraiths and vengeful spirits dwelling among the ruins persist. Adventurers, tempted by the promise of treasures, ventured into the city and never returned.
I scan my surroundings, eyes straining to penetrate the thick darkness beyond the crumbling arch of the city gates. The dead trees loom behind me like skeletal sentinels, their twisted branches reaching out like clawed fingers. Shadows lurk among the trunks. I shudder and hastily take my first step toward the city, the ancient pavement crunching beneath the worn-out heels of my boots. Each step feels like approaching the edge of an abyss, my breath hitching with every creak and groan of the ruins ahead.
The way to my new life in the Free Cities goes through this broad, paved street. Silence wraps everything, but it is not complete. The Wastelands and the old town might be long dead, yet the distant croaking of frogs, the song of the crickets, and the lonely call of a nightbird remind me that little souls survived the devastation of the Hex. The Shadowfeeders and their thralls devour all living, human, Fae, and beasts alike, yet life seems to find a way.
In the Bountiful Bosom, stories were told of animals, fast and smart enough to find food in the Wastelands and survive. Townsfolk talked about a herd of deer—majestic wild animals that haven’t been seen in centuries—wandering around. Yet other rumors persist about creatures twisted and changed by the vile magic of the Shadowfeeders: bears, wolves, and dogs, thirsty for blood and flesh, eager to spread the Taint.
As my steps echo down the road, the shadows grow longer and darker, twisting and writhing as if alive. My imagination conjures images of Shadowfeeders lurking just out of sight, their hungry eyes watching my every move. The buildings loom over me, their once grand facades now crumbling and covered with dark, creeping vines. I shake my head. It’s only in my head. I am alone.
The street takes me to a small square dominated by a marble fountain. The water within it is dark and still, a mirror reflecting the twisted ruins around. I swallow drily, my throat parched. The stories of careless travelers who drank from tainted streams and lost their minds resurface in my mind. In the Wastelands, water is a deadly gamble. Only a few rivers and streams remain untainted, and I must be careful.
Nothing to find here. No weapons, no water. I hasten my step and stretch all my senses, like the long fingers of an invisible hand, trying to feel some anomaly. Something magical. Magic has a specific vibration; it even has a taste. It’s like a tender melody of wind chimes, like the memory of an exquisite dish on the palate of a starving person.
Each step is a risk, especially when walking the open street, brightly lit by the moonlight. The other contestants are as dangerous as the Shadowfeeders and their thralls. My plan is to keep my distance from everyone except for Gale. There’s something trustworthy about him, as if he’s a long-lost childhood friend or a favorite cousin who came back into my life.
A barely perceptible move ahead startles me, and I quickly step away from the street, bathed in moonlight. My heart beats against the ribcage so loud that every enemy a mile around might hear it.
What sorcery is this?
To the Atos’s hell pits with my curiosity! My feet carry me forward against my will, mesmerized by the dance of tiny flickering lights in the thorny weeds sprouting from the walls.
Fireflies! A rare sight in this desolate world.
Fireflies are believed to be messengers of Elder Cymmetra, the protector of nature and beasts. Perhaps she’s offering her blessing? I stand for several minutes, searching their dance for a hidden pattern, a divine sign.
This is no sign, just some bugs flying.
No Elder will help me. Only I can save my ass, and Tayna’s future is in my hands, just like Myrtle and Stebian’s.
The gods have abandoned this cursed realm after destroying it themselves.
And I have an artifact to find.
The deeper I go, the more this city reminds me of a tomb. Tall houses with collapsed roofs decorated with bas-reliefs and flower friezes stare at me with black windows. In the battle between decadence and decay, the latter is winning. I have to make my way around rubble and collapsed walls. Statues covered in dust follow me with wide-open white eyes. The sound of rocks falling from great heights rumbles deeper into the heart of this cemetery. No weapons in sight so far; nothing but rubble lies on the streets, and entering the gloom beyond the gaping windows is too risky. I fill the pockets of my pants with rocks. Rocks have saved me from tight situations more than once on the streets of Tenebris, and my aim is great. But what would these do against a horde of Shadowfeeders and their thralls? Or some frenzied Fae?
The street is climbing steeply, and I dig into my memories for any information about this city. All human capitals of old had magical academies, back when magic was not that scarce. Maybe if I find a higher ground, I can take a look around and locate the academy. It is a vague plan, but it is better than nothing. The only problem is that the others might be doing just the same.
Some parts of the are almost intact. It seems like a devastating wave of something gruesome swept through it centuries ago, but some areas were spared. The tower looming at the end of the uphill street is halfway torn by some grand force. Yet most of it still stands, and with some luck, there might be a way to climb it.
The moonlight drips over the ruins like quicksilver. The frozen sea of marble and decay presses on my senses. Searching for a small artifact here is worse than searching for a needle in a haystack.
Out of breath, I reach the top of the slope. The colossal bone-colored tower looms ahead, piercing the starry sky. Sections of the walls are in ruins, revealing spiral staircases within.
Wait a minute.
I curse softly when I notice the light burning in the arched ground-floor window.
Atos take me with my damned fireflies and cautious dancing around the ruins. Someone was faster and set up a camp on the ground floor. Shadowfeeders and Tainted ones despise fire and light—so this is for sure another contestant. Or is the ancient city not as abandoned as believed?
And because fate always likes to make things worse, a tender, otherworldly melody spills out of the door and reaches me with the night breeze. It lingers over the ruins and drips down the dead streets like the sweet scent of blossoms, like the fresh air after a summer rain.
Tempting and powerful, the flute seduces my senses and makes me abandon all reason. Is there any mysterious spell in the tune, or is it my hexed curiosity? I need to see who is playing this flute as if it were Elder Raynisse herself.