A Court of Wings and Fate

61. Pointless Deaths

Night had fallen across Ramiel. Mikael found some slight shelter beneath the rocky outcropping of a cliff. He was a little over halfway through the foothills. He'd reach the mountain itself and begin the ascent hopefully by midday tomorrow.

So far, he'd managed to avoid confrontation with the Illyrians or any animals, but his luck would only last so long. Mikael huddled closer to his smoldering fire, chipping away at pieces of flint he was going to use to make knives.

Having an actual fire would've made it easier to see what he was doing, but it also would've given away his position to enemies. Mikael had built his fire and choked it with ash so that it was warm with a few glowing embers, but not live flames.

He'd found a stream earlier and followed it to this location. A few small fish made up his supper. He wasn't going to risk sleeping right now. Making weapons was more important. Mikael paused and massaged his forehead wearily. Staying awake would be difficult. He could already tell.

He shifted his wings uncomfortably. The ashwood chains were digging into the skin beneath his feathers. The feeling wasn't exactly painful, but Mikael knew that if the abrasion continued, his skin would be rubbed raw and the ashwood might begin to negatively affect him.

Estelle's shadows and Umbra crawled down his back and onto his wings. Their movements were slow and they paused every few inches, as though regaining their strength. Mikael winced as they hovered over the spots where the chains were pinching him. He tilted his head, watching them curiously as they slipped beneath the chains. The pressure on his wings eased slightly. The chains were no longer digging into his skin. The shadows were between his wings and the ashwood.

"Thank you," Mikael murmured. He went back to working on his knives. At least I have a few advantages. The shadows are still looking out for me and I just finished the Peregryn Rite, so my survival skills are refreshed. Estelle taught me a few new tricks that have already come in handy.

Mikael sighed, his hand drifting to his chest. The Bond was still barely perceptible. He was tugging on it periodically, but had yet to receive a response. Or, if Estelle had responded, he couldn't feel it.

Rocks clattered nearby. Mikael snapped his head up, grabbing the one knife he had finished earlier. He scattered more ash over the brighter embers in his fire and pressed his back against the cliff face.

"I saw Yael's body in the woods. He's dead. From the looks of him, it was an animal that got him."

"We're armed with our nails and teeth out here. Anyone who winds up dead will look like an animal got them," a gruff voice replied.

Mikael narrowed his eyes, recalling the body he'd stolen boots and a shirt off of. That male's throat was cut. If no weapons are allowed during the Rite, how did that happen? It was a clean wound. It wasn't made by a stone weapon or teeth and nails.

"That's not all," the first male continued. "I overheard some others talking about...living corpses. Illyrians who look half dead are wandering around these woods."

"Sounds like a ghost story invented by frightened children."

"Abnormally pale skin. Black sunken eyes. Dark, protruding veins. Hollow cheeks. Some even say they smell like rotting flesh."

"That's a load of bullshit. The only corpses out here are runts who were never meant to be warriors."

The male who grabbed Estelle back in Windhaven fit that description. I couldn't scent him because of the drug on the rags though. Mikael hunkered further into the shadow of the outcropping as the males' footsteps came closer.