Soulwoven

Chapter Forty-Six

~46~

The disc lurched beneath Litnig’s feet, as if it was no longer solidly attached to whatever held it aloft in the darkness. The black clouds swirled in terrible stacks above him. His heart pounded wildly. Thoughts tore through his head like locusts through a ripened field.

I soulwove. My mother is dead. It wasn’t enough. I need to wake up. I couldn’t save her. MY MOTHER IS DEAD!

The last thought was a scream—a hurricane that stirred up the darkness around the disc.

The woman with the red eyes. The woman with the red eyes had killed his mother.

By the eyes of Yenor, by the bones of the kings, and by the sweat of my brow, I swear—if I see her again, she is dead—I swear it!

Something moved too quick to see, like the red-eyed woman had.

In front of him stood a leering, black gargoyle carving of himself.

His heart clenched.

The human dark walker.

The Aleani dark walker was free too—it sat on the edge of the disc with its legs dangling into the abyss, and it grinned at Litnig over its shoulder. The black statue of the Sh’ma remained chained to its pillar by small, glowing links around its chest. The duller, simpler chains that had once bound all three walkers lay in broken links across the surface of the lurching disc.

Terror welled in Litnig’s throat.

The dark walker in front of him spat a glob of thick, black ooze onto the disc, planted icy fingers on his chest, and pushed.

Litnig’s knees buckled. He fell backward.

As his head hit the disc, a hand grasped his shoulder. In the dream, something light and shining rushed past him.

He had the sensation of turning a somersault and passing through the disc, and he woke up and took a heavy lungful of air.

Cold liquid ran down his face. Something warm and sticky was dripping from his chin. Somewhere, someone was crying and screaming, and in front of him, harsh, white light shone on the rain-beaten face of Quay Eldani.

The prince had one hand cocked back open-palmed, as if to strike him. The other was wrapped tight in the fabric of his shirt, holding him above the cobblestones.

Litnig’s cheek stung.

“Can you stand?” the prince asked.

Quay hauled Litnig to his feet before he could answer. Behind the prince, a too-white hand lay motionless on the pavement.

The world started to spin again.

Litnig found himself turned roughly around.

“Don’t look. Just walk. First the left foot, then the right. The faster you move now, the longer we have before we have to run.”

Litnig felt drunk. His teeth buzzed.

“Wha, whe—?”

“Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just walk. Faster now.”

The prince’s hand was still on Litnig’s shoulder, insistent, pressing him forward. Houses moved past them. Cracked, yellow bones crunched and rolled under Litnig’s feet.

My mother—

He heard a sob in front of him and saw two shapes dragging a third with its face in its hands. Another, shorter shadow strode forward ahead of them. Litnig heard footsteps behind him, where the light was coming from. Quay’s hand pushed harder.

“Faster. Can you run? You need to run. Now.”

Shouting erupted in the street behind them. The shrill calls of whistles pierced the night. Quay’s touch grew lighter on Litnig’s shoulder, and then they were running—racing full speed into darker streets ahead of them, upcity, across the Eldwater Bridge and the muddy flood roaring against its bottom, through Temple Hill and into Thieves’ Rise.

They ran and they ran and they ran, and then they pounded breathless through a broken home and tore down a stairway that led to a trapdoor and a passage into the wet world beyond. Litnig gave up thinking about anything but his feet and his legs and his boots and the mud and the rain. Quay was a constant presence at his back, urging him to move faster, faster, faster, through grass and wind and a gray sky that grew lighter as they pressed on, and on, and on.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whimpered, My mother is dead...

Again.

And again.

And again.

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