Magistaire Chronicles: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 22

Ayko's feet slipped from under him, but he caught himself and gave Ilta's back a hard stare. She was surprisingly agile, not to mention fast for someone wearing heeled boots. She hurtled over upturned root wads and kicked away thorns and fallen Ovlos without so much as breaking a sweat. It was rather impressive, Ayko had to admit—the woman held her nose in the air and refused to look at anything to her sides, but she was seemingly aware of everything.

Ayko couldn't say the same for himself. Branches scraped his skin, and vines snapped and swatted his cheeks. Grunting in annoyance, he slapped a pair of Ovlos from his face and groaned when they fell, their juices spraying him from the knees down.

Ayko knelt to brush off his bottoms only to scrape his hands on the thorned bush at his waist. Clenching his jaw and flaring his nostrils, the young man cleaved said bush in two and spat on its leaves.

Ilta turned her head, meeting his eyes from the corner of her own, but didn't stop. Instead, she vanished into more bushes, forcing Ayko to chase behind her. He cleaved those thorns away as well and set a hand on her shoulder.

The woman stopped in her tracks and looked down at his hand and then up at his face, her eyes growing blacker by the second.

Ayko sniffed and rolled his eyes. He was far too repulsive to touch her. How could he forget?

Ilta swatted his hand and turned around, proceeding to strut again.

Sucking in his lips and clenching a fist, Ayko stared after her before catching up to her with a brief jog. "Couldn't we have followed the river instead?"

"No," Ilta replied.

Ayko stared blankly at her, only to suck his teeth when she said nothing else. Again, he should have known better than to expect her to explain anything.

The river's roaring faded into the distance as the pair descended further into the forest's bowels, instead replaced by the rustling of their clothes brushing against trees and the crunching of snow and fallen leaves beneath their boots—owls perched on branches above, hooting while Batmoths fluttered overhead.

Ayko hacked his sword at one that swooped down on him, the leather-skinned creature's pained shrieking tingling the young man's ears. He stabbed it through the gut when it flapped its wings, attempting to take to the sky again. Holding it up for Ilta to see, he smirked at her. "Dinner?"

Ilta folded her arms. "Ick. Leave it for the crows or eat it yourself." She turned her back to him. "But it'll be the last thing you eat," she said before walking ahead.

Ayko chucked it and coughed as the creature's powdery scales twirled down his throat. "I'll take your word for it," he rasped.

Boredom shook Ayko to his core as he followed behind Ilta, doing his best not to spare her a glance. He looked from side to side, watching the foliage more intently than ever, fascination growing on his face as the brush shifted and warped.

Oh, where are you from Slumbering Lillies burst from their buds when the moons peeked over the clouds, and the trees grew short, stout, and scattered. Red, button-shaped fruits dotted their trunks instead of their leaves, earning a queer look from Ayko before he took one in his hand. It had the texture of jelly and smelled a lot like Ilta's perfume.

Ayko raised it to his mouth only for Ilta to whirl around. She glared at him. "Remember our agreement, boy."

Ayko scowled at her. "Who're you calling—" He gasped when Ilta snatched it from his hand and swallowed it whole. "Don't push it!" He hissed.

The trees stooped further to the ground as Ayko and Ilta made their way farther on, with bushes void of fruits or flowers bunching up and their sides. The ground flattened upon them springing into view, and ruts filled the snow. Tree stumps littered the ground, and the smell of pine and wood chips wafted throughout the air.