‘Not here, my love,’ Jonas murmurs sharply, but to soften his words, he reaches out and strokes her face softly.
She nuzzles into his hand, closing her eyes at the touch. It’s not a moment meant to flaunt their relationship, to fortify the rumour that this was a match made for love, not for some other salacious reason. It is a moment for the two of them alone, and I feel blessed to have seen it.
Seeing them together, at ease, makes me smile.
Content that Kay is fine, I cast my eyes around for any sign of William. There are certainly men his age lined up, and yet there is no sign of my brother. Why is that? Worry grips me. Has the pattern on his skin spread so far that he fears even leaving the house?
If that were the case, then surely Jonas and Kay would not be so at ease.
So where is he?
My body sweeps upwards, only for a cry to resonate through my skull.
Little Raven!Fen’s voice is loud in my ears.You are neededhere. There is danger!
The yank issudden and brutal, and I jerk back into my own body, which is rocking and bouncing on the wolf beneath me.
A split second is all it takes to steady myself. A single heartbeat, long enough to draw breath and taste the stench within the air.
Rottings.
The fetid odour hits the back of my throat, coppery and wrong, rot layered over something sharp and acrid, like burned meat. Fen’s muscles bunch beneath me as he skids to a halt, claws tearing into the dirt.
They’re close.
Too close.
Get off! I can defend you better if you’re not on my back!Fen’s command is urgent, and I react without hesitation. He’s right that we need him at full fighting capacity.
My boots have barely touched the ground when a Rotting lurches out between the trees. Its movements are jerky and wrong, limbs dragging as if it’s forgotten how to use them. One leg is twisted at an impossible angle, yet it keeps coming. It doesn’t even slow.
Fen lunges towards it, ripping its head from its shoulders, but more follow, their flesh putrid, the skin dappled green with mottled forest light as they peel out of the undergrowth. Many are missing chunks offlesh or have skin scorched black, but none of it matters. They don’t falter.
They don’t feel the injuries; they just keep coming. Mouths gaping, eyes unfocused and empty.
No life. No soul.
My stomach drops. There are too many of them.
I look around the treeline, scouring for the Myrkr with its black steed, but I can’t see it.
A blessing, or a curse still gathering its teeth?
‘Form a line!’ Kyor roars, drawing his sword. ‘Shoulder to shoulder!’ His face contorts as pain shoots through his wounded side, but his sword is at full height, ready to defend.
As I follow his orders, Benny is already moving, heading to where a cluster of Rottings stumble towards Caz and Loch. Somehow, Caz has ended up on the outside of the group, only feet away from one of the staggering monsters, yet before she can even reach for her weapon, Benny shoves her back with one arm, while drawing his sword with the other. The movement is one sweep, up and through the putrid flesh, which peels away from its bones like rancid meat.
Yet the Rotting doesn’t utter a sound. Instead, it continues forward, swinging its festering fists wildly. Benny readies to strike again, but the Rotting lurches, swiping across Benny’s ribs hard enough that I hear the impact over the noise.
‘I’m okay!’ Benny yells. ‘I’m not scratched. Just stay behind me!’ His words are a snarl at Caz and Loch as he refuses to give the monster an inch of ground despite the impact.
Loch is rocking again, eyes wide, muttering to himself.
‘We need to go this way!’ Stide shouts as she jumps from her horse. ‘Lead them this way!’
‘Kyor said to form a line,’ Caz replies, gripping her own sword.
‘There is a vätte hule nearby!’ Stide yells back. ‘If we lead them there, they will fall! It is best!’
