The Siege of Shadows: Book one

When Disaster Strikes (2)

I, Rowan Maddox, had a knack for landing myself in situations wildly beyond my expertise. Case in point: clinging to the side of a rocky cliff, cold rain lashing my face, while the swollen river below raged with the force of a battering ram.

Honestly, it wasn't surprising. My talent for bullshitting my way into jobs—and straight into trouble—was legendary. How else could a nineteen-year-old manage to land a ranger position at Smokey Mountains National Park after just a few white lies on a résumé? Yet here I was, barely two months in, holding on for dear life while a flash flood tore through Nantahala River.

My left hand slipped as the rain-soaked rock crumbled under my grip. "You've done it this time, Maddox," I muttered through gritted teeth.

"Are you okay?" A shaky voice called from above.

I craned my neck to see a teenager's tear-streaked face peering over the edge of the cliff. "I can't reach you!" she cried, leaning dangerously close to the unstable edge.

"Step back!" I barked, panic sharpening my tone. "The cliff's not stable! Don't play hero!"

Her wide eyes darted between me and the crumbling ground as I readjusted my grip, fingers scraping over jagged stone. "Go to my Jeep!" I yelled over the pounding rain. "There's a SAT phone in my pack—call the emergency number. They'll send help!"

She hesitated, then retreated, her footsteps fading toward the vehicle where all my gear—and my search-and-rescue dog, Nox—waited.

My gut twisted. Nox.

"Don't let the dog ou—" Too late. I heard the telltale scrabble of paws on loose rock, followed by a cascade of stones raining down on me.

"Nox, no!" I screamed, but the big idiot didn't stop. His sleek nose appeared over the cliff's edge, his legs scrambling for purchase on the slick surface. The loose rocks betrayed him, and he plunged over the side before I could do anything but watch in horror.

I barely had time to process the sight of his twisting body hitting the water before my own grip failed.

The fall was a blur of wind and panic before the icy flood swallowed me whole.

The water slammed into me like a freight train. The cold cut through me, and I struggled to tell up from down as the churning current tossed me like a rag doll. Jagged debris battered my body, each impact stealing what little air remained in my lungs.

I broke the surface for the briefest second, gasping for a single breath before a tree limb smashed into my ribs, sending me under again. Pain bloomed across my chest as the icy water roared in my ears, dragging me farther downstream.

I fought against the current, clawing for anything solid. My hands found the trunk of a massive spruce tree, fingers digging into the bark like a lifeline. But the relentless flood ripped me free, leaving splinters in my palms as I was pulled back into the chaos.

This was it.
I was going to die here—drowned or beaten to death by the debris swirling around me.

I thought of Nox, his grey fur and goofy grin flashing in my mind. He was a strong swimmer, but the flood was merciless. I prayed he'd made it to shore, but I couldn't be sure. I'd lost sight of him the moment we hit the water.

My vision blurred as black spots danced in my peripheral. My chest burned, lungs screaming for air I couldn't reach. Numbness crept through my body, dulling the cold as the river carried me farther into darkness.

Something massive slammed into my back.

I gasped involuntarily, expelling the last shred of oxygen from my body. The world blurred, my limbs heavy and unresponsive, as the dark finally swallowed me whole.

.........................
Pain. That was the first thing I registered, radiating through my body like I'd been thrown into a blender and spat out as pulp. My muscles screamed, my ribs throbbed, and my ankle burned with a sharp, stabbing ache.

Cool, smooth rocks pressed against my palms, and icy water lapped at my feet before retreating, as though trying to drag me back into the current. Somehow, I'd been washed ashore, though I wasn't entirely sure how I was still alive.

I cracked my eyes open, immediately regretting it as sunlight stabbed into my skull. The roar of rushing water filled my ears—a sound I'd mistaken for some sort of damage to my head. Wincing, I wiped sand from my face and turned my head slightly. A steep waterfall loomed ahead, its pool nestled in a rocky bowl. Cliffs rose on every side except one, and a lone, squat tree stood sentinel in the clearing.

Forty feet. I had fallen at least forty feet. How I survived was a mystery.

I took inventory of the damage: ribs, screaming with every shallow breath. Ankle, likely broken. Vision, swimming with dizziness. No recognizable landmarks in sight. This wasn't on any park map I knew, meaning I was either in a hidden part of the Smokey Mountains or somewhere completely outside its borders. Either way, I was stranded and in bad shape.

I needed to move.

Gritting my teeth, I scanned the rocky shoreline and spotted a piece of driftwood a few feet away. It was thick and sturdy, about four feet long—perfect for a crutch. Reaching it, though, was another matter entirely.

Carefully, I twisted my body, biting back a scream as pain lanced through my ribs. With my good leg, I nudged the stick closer until I could grab it. The effort left me trembling, but I managed to wedge the wood under my shoulder and pull myself upright. My ribs protested with every breath, and my ankle threatened to buckle, but I forced myself to stay standing.

Dizziness hit me in waves, but I steadied myself and hobbled toward the lone tree. Its green branches hung low, clusters of red berries weighing them down. Crawling beneath the canopy, I leaned against the trunk. It wasn't much, but it was dry, and I was too drained to care.

As my head lolled against the rough bark, my strength ebbed away, and darkness swept over me once more.

"Do you think it's still alive, Moro?"

The voice was high and chirping, almost musical.

"It looks washed up," another voice replied, just as lilting. "Doubt it has anything worth taking. Just check its pockets and leave it for the wolves."

Something tugged at my pants pocket, and my eyes fluttered open. I caught a glimpse of two small, birdlike figures darting away, flashes of yellow and green against the hazy light. For a split second, I thought their faces looked human.

Hallucinations, I decided. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. The thought barely formed before unconsciousness claimed me again.
.

"Athair! Over here! I found something beneath the Ro!"

A gruff voice cut through the haze. I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't call out, but I could hear the crunch of heavy footsteps growing closer.

"Tis a wee cailín," a voice muttered, thick with an accent I couldn't place. Branches rustled as someone crouched beside me, sunlight warming my face as the shade disappeared.

"Aye, but she's Fae-touched," another voice grumbled. "Look at her—red hair, strange clothes. Leave her be."

"But Athair," the first voice protested, "I canna leave a defenseless woman to the wilds. I would na feel right."

"May the Fae take ya," the second voice spat. "She be your responsibility. We donna need another mouth to feed."

Calloused hands slid under me, lifting me from the ground with surprising care. Pain shot through my body, tearing a sharp gasp from my lips.

"Tha mi duilich, cailín," the man murmured, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry, girl. I'll get you fixed up."

Every step jostled my broken ribs and sent fire through my dangling ankle. The agony built until it became unbearable, and I let the darkness take me once more.