Chapter 18

Tristan couldn’t quite believe it when they broke the treeline.

“It’s the right place,” Sarai fervently told him. “The hills are in the right arrangement.”

She had to be right, she was no fool and she had the map tucked away inside her mind through a Sign, and yet the thief felt no relief. Before them a great clearing in the forest was stretching out, rolling hills and a stretch of gleaming grass. Miles of open land, with trees on all sides save the north – where the ravine lay, and the bridge to cross it. Tristan spat to the side, for his mouth taste of iron after all the running, and looked behind. The others were catching up, the fit and the not. The former clustered together, keeping the same exhausted but unrelenting pace, while the latter trailed behind.

Yong, Sanale, Ferranda, Lan. All these were mere moments behind he and Sarai.

It was they others they waited for until they came out one by one. It took nearly ten minutes: Vanesa had not got quicker for the evening’s exertions and Francho was barely ahead of her. As for Felis, it had been only a matter of time until his lick of dust’s feverish burst of energy passed – and once it had, he’d become a shambles. That Aines stayed with him was as much a result of her poor shape as loyalty to her hanging rope of a marriage, Tristan suspected. She was barely faster on her feet than the greyhairs now, evidently not used to lasting exercise. And yet they were catching up, all of them.

They had all made it.

“I thought we’d lose at least one of the elders,” Yong admitted. “It is a bruising pace we have kept.”

“Tough,” Sanale appreciatively said.

“Desperations is a kind of strength,” Lan said. “And even the old girl wants to live, deep down.”

The thief caught her eye and dipped his head in agreement. Vanesa had not given up. She might not expect to live through this, but neither was she ready to lay down and die. It was worthy of respect, as much as the freely gifted kindness. As the laggards entered the light of the lantern, Tristan saw how worn down they had become. Expectedly so: it had been punishing work moving through the woods even with their lanterns now wide open.

They had followed the edge of the ravine to avoid getting lost, following it east until the treeline broke. They’d passed to more rings of raised stones as they did – one intact, the other shattered – and the second they had passed not even a half hour ago. Whatever they might once have been used for, they now made for useful landmarks. When the last of them, a sweaty and dishevelled Vanesa, caught up the lot of them shared a brief rest.

“We’re close, then?” Felis raggedly asked.

Sarai pointed slightly to the northwest, past two high hills.

“The bridge is there,” she said. “There can be no doubt.”

Far be it from him to argue with the woman who had a used magic to memorize the map. Even the most exhausted of them picked up the pace at her words, elation and relief limbering slowing feet. Even Tristan found a smile tugging at his lips. It seemed they had reached salvation before the monster caught up with them, after all. He crested a hill, then another, and saw the dirt path laid down before him. Then the relief caught in his throat.

Lemures.

Lupines, a whole pack of them. Though Aines and Yong were standing at his side within moments, not a single of the beasts glanced their way: they were too busy tearing hungrily into corpses. Slowly coming down the hill, hand on his knife, he took a closer look at the bodies. Hollows, Tristan recognized. Less than half a day dead, and as the light of the lantern reached the bridge beyond the lupines he remembered the bishop’s smiling curse: you are all already dead.

The corpses being eaten had been crushed and stomped, as if by a great beast.

These were, he realized, the losses Bishop Dionne had talked about. The priestess herself might have been here mere hours ago. One after another, he fit the pieces together. Standing there alone with closed eyes, he painted the picture the way Abuela had taught him to.

By the time the Bluebell had come ashore, the cultists had already been stirred up from the debacle that woke up the airavatan. The warbands split, some roving the land while the largest claimed the western and eastern bridge. The morning after Ju was murdered the trial-takers split into bands of their own, but their story was not Tristan’s trouble: what he cared for was the bridges. After Inyoni and her fellows fought their way through the western bridge, the airavatan went mad from whatever had confused it and collapsed the bridge. What, then, were the hollows to do?

Everyone headed east. So, eventually, did the airavatan.

The monster slew a few warbands and some went into hiding, but what Tristan and the others had deduced when they first laid their plans was still true: the cultists did not help each other, they were rivals. And so no one went to warn the large warband holding the eastern bridge – led, he now believed, by Bishop Dionne – that a monster was on the prowl. The cultists were taken entirely by surprise when it attacked them.

That warband had been hit tonight, mere hours ago. It was why the tracks Sanale had found earlier were fresh: the cultists been fleeing the beast by going east into the woods, away from this deadly clearing. After finishing up here, the airvatan had followed in their direction but been lost – perhaps because of the rain, which would dampen how it smelled. It had still moved east somewhat, though, and been close enough to immediately smell the lodestone extract when Tristan used it.

Which brought them to here and now: the cultist camp of a rival warband destroyed, their own crew running for the bridge before the heliodoran beast turned on them.

And now they came to the reason Bishop Dionne had called them dead. Tristan opened his eyes as the light of the lantern carried by Yong passed the corpses and lupines. To the bridge, through which some cultists had tried to flee and where the monster caught up to them. And when it struck them down, in its rage it must have collapsed the wooden bridge: now only shattered edges on both side of the ravine remained, the rest long fallen into the river below. There would be no crossing here.

They were stuck on this side, with the beast and the hollows.

“No,” Aines shouted.

The lupines did not even care enough about the noise to abandon their meal. Despair trembled in the air, not one of them denying its sting. It was too long for a jump across, Tristan thought. And they did not have a rope long enough to attempt another kind of crossing. Even Sarai’s face fell, though she was the first to gather herself.

“If we go west, the river grows wider and stronger but there is no ravine,” she said. “Swimming through there is the only way left.”

Half of them wouldn’t make that swim, the thief thought. Neither of the elders, probably not Aines either and he was not so sure of Lan. Gods, he was not so sure of himself. He was fit but no great swimmer and the Watch had built bridges on the island for a reason. But it was all that remained, so he put away his doubts and breathed in. He let out his breath and his fear with it.

“Let’s go,” he said. “No time to waste.”

If they waited for too long their company was sure to fall into arguments and backbiting, which would eat into their chances of losing the airavatan. So he began setting out, nudging Sarai to do the same. She gave him a long look, then nodded and followed. Behind them he heard Felis comfort his wife and yell something out at Yong, but Tristan met the Tianxi’s eyes and the soldier snorted. Ignoring Felis, he joined them in walking away. After that, the simple pressure of people leaving forced the rest to make a decision: stay or follow.

Enough followed that the rest feared to stay.

It was not a solid foundation, the thief knew, but the worst had happened and so he must adjust his expectations. There could be no more sentimentality. Ferranda sought him out at the front, having surprised him when she and Sanale stuck with them.

“You have a scheme in mind,” she said. “What is it?”

“Going west,” he flatly replied. “If we live through the day then we can revisit how we will cross.”

She grimaced.

“Fair enough,” Ferranda replied. “We will stay with you for now, but make no promises for tomorrow.”

He shrugged. The pair were far from dead weight, and he’d given due thought to Sanale’s offer, but trackers were no longer needed. It would be hard to get lost now that they had found the river: all that remained was to find a way to cross it. It had earlier taken most of an hour for them to get to the bridge, and now they squeezed out much the same hurrying through the hills. In a few miles west the woods would begin again, continuing until they broke for another plain at the heart of the island where the other bridge lay.

Past that, at least a full day west, was where Sarai was suggesting they attempt the crossing.

Only when they were out of breath did they call their first halt. The pretence that they were all in this together had worn thin: both the greyhairs had been lagging behind again, the same for Aines and Felis, and no one moved to help them. They would catch up exhausted to the remainder of the group only by the time it set out, the thief estimated, and so be forced to continue without rest. It was a slow death sentence, but Tristan hardened his heart.

He no longer had the luxury of caring about anything but survival.

“Huh,” Yong said. “Unusual.”

Panting and on his knees, Tristan turned to follow the Tianxi’s gaze. Further along the ravine – it was wider here, likely why the bridge had been built further east – there were rings of raised stones. Two of them, rather close, and in near perfect state. Whoever the builders had been, they had made them to last. It was not long after this second ring the forest began again, the clearing come to an end. After entering those woods it ought to take at least half a day until they found open grounds again, which he did not look forward to.

It was vicious kind of irony that Tristan and his fellows were to see twice as many bridges anyone from the Bluebell yet all of them would be broken.

And now remembering, the other bridge’s fate – which he had known of for an entire day! – he cursed himself for not having considered the same might happen again. It was plain that the blackcloacks had not built bridges strong enough to withstand the lemure, that they had expected the airavatan to remain sleeping. He’d had the right knowledge in his pocket all along and never thought to put it to use.

“The others were further apart,” Yong breathed out.

The thief blinked for a moment before realizing Yong was still talking of the stone circles.

“Maybe we’re near the middle,” Tristan shrugged.

Francho believed they followed the length of the river, from east to west, but he might have been wrong. The thief got back on his feet, meeting the Yong’s eyes. A nod was shared and they began to move again – setting out at a pace that was not quite a run but far from walking. This was to be a trial of endurance, not a quick race.

Tristan forced himself not to think about the fact that Francho and Vanesa had not yet caught up.

Half an hour later they were slightly past the second of the rings, not even a quarter hour away from the woods resuming to the west. The thief slowed for a heartbeat, convinced he’d seen a light inside the stones, but it was nothing: only a stone smoothed by rain reflecting the stars, however. He breathed out, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. The answer was soon settled, however, as the little he had turned was enough for him to catch sight of something that froze his limbs.

Behind them, to the east, mist was billowing past the crest of the hills

His breath caught. If the mist was close enough for him to see without even lantern light, then there was no outrunning the monster. The heliodoran beast had caught up, and what could the likes of them do against such a creature? He was going to die here in the dark, surrounded by strangers. He- Tristan breathed in, breathed out. Remember your lessons. What he could not do did not matter, so what could he do? If the monster could not be fled from, it must be tricked.

“Tristan,” Sarai called out, but then she turned to follow his gaze and her voice went out like a candle in the wind.

The thief did not answer, eyes staying fixed on the heliodoran beast. In the distance he could see the white fog slowly but surely gaining on Vanesa, ever the last of them. She had yet to notice. Sarai pulled at his arm, fingers squeezing hard at his flesh.

“We need to go,” she hissed. “I know you-”

“You’re letting fear do your thinking for you,” Tristan said, tone even. “We had at least an hour on it, running on open grounds while it was in the woods. We cannot flee from it, Sarai: we’re simply not fast enough.”

He straightened his back.

“As our good friend the bishop said, we must outwit the god or earn the honour of its teeth.”

Sarai loudly swallowed.

“You said to stick close to you, if this went bad,” she said.

“I can perhaps keep us alive, and another as well,” he admitted. “But I am not sure how long.”

It would be a gamble. While they were covered in magic feathers reeking of sleep the beast should not eat them, but they would be unconscious and he would have to hope the lemure kept chasing the others instead of taking the time to stomp them out of spite. By the way her breathing grew uneven, Sarai was panicking. He did not blame her.

“You’ve just good as said we’re going to die – how are you so fucking calm?” she demanded.

Did he seem that way? He did not feel it. There was a wild animal clawing at his insides, even if it had yet to break the cage.

“I am terrified,” Tristan honestly told her. “My limbs are trembling and my mind is mush. But it doesn’t matter, because I know where we are.”

“Where?” she snarled.

“In a grave,” the rat grinned. “We have nothing left to lose, Sarai: either we buy our way out or we stay buried. Fear only matters if it can still get worse.”

She let out a hiccup that was half indignation and half laughter.

“Gods,” she croaked. “No wonder the masks want you.”

Masks – did she mean the Krypteia? No, now was not the time. There would be time to ask what one of the Circles of the Watch might want with him if they lived. Instead he clapped her shoulder comfortingly and his eyes went back to their coming doom. By his count Vanesa was a quarter hour behind them, to the east, and the beast would catch up to her around the time she reached the first ring of stones. Indeed, now that the mist was spreading further across the wet grass he could make out the airvatan’s silhouette in starlight. The monster was following her doggedly.

Vanesa had noticed the monster at last and broken into a run that slowly curved north towards the ravine – her eye again, Tristan thought with a sliver of grief – and the beast had followed the adjustment exactly. Almost, he frowned, too exactly.

“Sarai,” he said, “is it me or is the airavatan running strangely?”

Afraid or not, the blue-eyed woman had not fallen to pieces. They stood there in silence for a long moment, gaze following the same great beast.

“It’s not moving across the hills well,” she murmured. “It keeps almost tripping on the slopes. Why?”

“It’s blind,” Tristan breathed out, excitement rising. “It wasn’t enough poison to kill it, but it went blind.”

He suspected the beast have been blind when it began following them across the plains – surely it would not have been able to hear them from so far away – but now the volcian yew had taken its sight. It could still get around somehow, and track them, but the way it kept walking on things instead of over them was telling.

“It’s still following Vanesa,” Sarai said. “The impact of feet on the ground? No, then it would feel the slopes and the stones when its footsteps make them shake. It must be the sound, it is listening to her run.”

“Then hiding would be pointless,” Tristan noted. “If it can hear her from that far away, there is no way to hold our breath for long enough it won’t hear us.”

“We need protection,” she said. “Something to hide behind. We could try going down the side of the ravine?”

Tristan grimaced, shaking his head, and even Sarai looked unconvinced. The beast would be able to reach them with its tentacles. Gods, the monstrosity was longer than the ravine was large. But there was one detail that he’d had in the back of his mind since earlier, an oddity about how the monster had attacked the cultist camp.

“I think I have something,” Tristan admitted. “But there will be no way to tell if it works until it’s on us.”

Blue eyes met his and she hesitated. He was, in practice, asking her to bet her life on his hunch. They had known each other for mere days, and spent much of these hiding secrets from one another and – her expression hardened and she offered her arm. She had, he sensed, come to a decision. Not just about the needs of the moment, but deeper things still. Gently, almost reverently, he clasped the proffered arm.

“Maryam,” she said. “My name is Maryam Khaimov. If I am to trust you with my life, I should trust you with that.”

He swallowed.

“Tristan Abrascal,” he said, lips gone dry.

It was the first time he’d said his surname in years and he shivered at hearing it.

“Let’s live, Tristan,” Maryam smiled. “After that, it would be embarrassing not to.”

He grinned back, minutes away from death and terrified and somehow more alive than he’d been since he was a boy.

—

They went back to the first ring of stones. This was madness, so naturally even after the others noticed they were no longer running and turned back to ask few were inclined to follow.

“This is madness,” Ferranda Villazur flatly informed him.

As always, the infanzona caught on quickly.

“I am aware,” Tristan said. “It might, however, be the useful kind of madness.”

The fair-haired noblewoman studied him for a moment, then shook her head. Her plain face was drawn with exhaustion, but her expression remained steadfast in a stolid sort of way.

“I wish you well, but I will not risk my life so recklessly,” Ferranda told. “We part ways here.”

Or so she said, but then she glanced at Sanale – who nodded after a heartbeat. Reassured, her face firmed. Their decision was made.

“Good luck,” Tristan said, and was surprised to find her meant the words.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You too,” Sanale said, offering his hand. “Keep your knife close. Better to die quick if can.”

It was said with such friendly concern that the thief could not even find it in himself to be offended at the presumption they were all about to die, shaking it. They were not truly friends, though perhaps in time they could have become something close to it, but the pair had been more than tolerable to work with. It was already better than he had ever expected to think of an infanzona. When Lady Ferranda offered her hand he shook it as well. The two hurried away after rushing through goodbyes, heading west for the woods. Lan followed behind them, offering only a cheerful wave before legging it.

The three had lost some time doubling back, but likely expected to make it back while the airavatan murdered everyone staying behind.

Yong watched them go, then grimaced.

“Now would be a good time to tell me you put some lodestone in their bags,” the Tianxi said.

“Alas, I used the full stock,” Tristan easily replied.

“I was afraid you’d stay that,” Yong sighed. “Is the plan really to hide inside the stone rings and pray they keep the monster out?”

“I don’t intend to pray,” Sarai informed him.

He glared at her.

“You two are a bad influence on each other,” he said, then turned to spit on the grass.

He sighed and began to load his musket.

“I think this might be the most idiotic plan I’ve ever followed,” Yong said, “and I’ve served with militia officers from Mazu.”

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. He knew little of that republic save that it was one of the foremost naval powers of the Trebian Sea.

“Half their promotion examination is about poetry,” Yong scathingly said.

“What I choose to take from this is that my insight matched that of trained military officers,” Tristan proudly replied. “Come on, let’s go hide in the rings.”

Their company had spread out. Ferranda and Sanale had pulled ahead to the west and were minutes away from the woods, a surprisingly quick Lan a notch behind them, while further back Aines and Felis were getting close to the first ring of stones. A few minutes behind them Francho was limping, and even further beyond that Vanesa struggled to catch up. Tristan worried his lip, evaluating the distances. He had the time, narrowly.

“We have two lanterns,” he said. “Let us put one in each ring.”

It was as clear a signal he could risk considering that shouting would likely attract the beast. Seeing a lantern in the eastern ring might induce the others to try going inside it.