Winterskin (Book One of Wrath & Winter)

A Measure of Worth: Part Three

We weren't meant to stick together. The seven of us didn't meld together as well as the other shieldsibling teams did. And besides, we'd be split up into groups of twos and threes once we survived the crucible and brought back a head.

Somehow we managed to keep close. Though gnarled branches and monstrous tree roots would sometimes obscure our vision and keep us separated, another shieldsibling wasn't far behind.

During the day, we knew there'd be nothing. But I kept a sharp eye out for everything. From prints to keels in the distance to shadows hanging heavy overhead that forced their way through the canopy of twisting branches above. All bare.

"The corpses are the easiest." Jod said behind me, thrashing his way through the underbrush, "Elsa said they're slow and dumb. And their heads come off easy as cooked chicken just slogging off the bone." He noisily licked his lips.

"Amazin how you can make everything a food metaphor." I rolled my eyes. "Elsa say anything about where they're usually found?"

"I heard they eat people," Noel said, bumping into my shoulder. "Are you sure you want to track something that might try to eat you?"

"Is there a fiend out here that doesn't eat people?" I raised an eyebrow.

Noel opened his mouth. Shut it and shook his head.

"Corpses are just slower." Jod said.

"Think a direwolf head would count?" Noel asked, regaining his resolve rather quickly. "My ma could use a new fur cloak. Her's is all tatters."

"Well, according to Maeva, all fiends eat people, so...,"

"Direwolves eat people." I snapped, "Sometimes."

"They wouldn't would they? Too easy a kill, Hagen would say." Noel's shoulders dropped as we made our way into a clearing, "Ah, well. Corpse it is then!"

"Jod?" I stopped, offered him the lead, "You know where they might be?"

There's a place where people used to bury their dead, after all of the "correct" rites that is. A mass of graves and smooth-faced tombstones that lies to the west. Opposite the Methusa and Eastpost. We followed Jod toward there, getting farther and farther from that supposed tombstone I had seen weeks before. And the curtain.

But we were being followed—not only by our own—but by something that knew how to hide its tracks. Sadly it couldn't hide its smell. I wasn't sure if Jod and Noel and the others had smelt it. Felt its dark presence as it slunk after us, but there was no reason to put them on high alert. I'd just stick to the back of our little formation. Scan every once and a while so that the creature thinks we don't know about it.

Around noon, we were close enough to the grave site to set up camp and install watches. We'd sleep in two-hour intervals until the sun went down. By then, we'd all be rested and ready to take on a corpse or two.

"They like to huddle up," Jod warned us before he went on the first watch, "so if things get too bad, just find a tree."

"Wait," I said as he turned away, "be careful. Something's been...following us." It had to come out sooner or later.

Both men's faces paled. "Something like what?" Noel squeaked.

"I don't know. But its smart." I said, "Just...watch well." It was weak, but it was all I could say. I hadn't even seen the thing.

My watch was the last before the sun fell. I rubbed my eyes and listened. Tasted the air and could no longer feel whatever was searching for us. Not even smell its trail.

It's gone. Good, right?

My stomach still leaped. Still fluttered.

Low moans told me it was time to wake the other two up. Jod started first, then nodded at the sound. Noel swallowed audibly and clutched his ax to his chest. But with one deep breath, fear fled from his eyes and it was replaced with a stony resilience.

I had picked my partners well.

We listened to Jod's warnings again and then set out. Slow plodding made us slow our pace. Low moaning soon became an unearthly chorus of grievances.

These people had been buried correctly, their rites passed on to younger generations. Yet, they came back.

Why?

We could see them somewhat. Moonlight hit them in all the wrong spots. At least five of them were missing limbs and in their places, decayed flesh sprang like splintered undergrowth. Their eyes were wide and rheumy, some shone glassy like buffed steel.

Jod slipped some flint from his pocket. Took a nearby rock and warned us of his intent.

Click!

All heads turned. The moaning silenced. White eyes set themselves on us, around us, on top of us.

Click!

One spark. Two. The stronger of the bunch slouched forward and brought their noses to the air. Breathed deeply.

I made eye contact.

Click!

It isn't us.

It isn't us.

It isn't us.

They run.