Page 33 of Cursebreaker

“Where are we going?” I shout over the crack of flames.

“The mountains! There might be a cave or—”

A chorus of screams seems to echo all around us, but I can’t see anything in the blaze.

Will’s grip on my hand is almost painful.

The screams fade to small, pitiful cries that sound almost… childlike. Human.

We’re close enough to the base of the mountains. I can make out a break in the outcropping of black stone. Will’s pace increases, preternaturally fast.

But I’m not fast enough.

And when I trip over a bit of loose rock, my knees colliding with the black earth, the cries give way to a sound that chills my blood.

Giggling.

Will drags me to my feet as the first creature lands on a boulder, the size and stature of a bear, its twelve spidery tentacles curling around its perch in place of four legs, its webbed wings still flapping. It cocks its furry head at us, its masklike face resembling a porcelain owl, its eyes like hollow white voids. When it smiles, the unnaturally stretched mouth is almost human, lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“Hello, sweet lambs.” The innocent, childlike voice sends shivers down my spine. “Did you think you could hide?”

Two more land on the rocks, surrounding us on all sides.

“They’re called Stalkers,” Will says, angling his body in front of mine as he slowly rotates, his hands flexing at his sides. “Don’t let their tentacles grab hold of you. They’ll leech all the happiness from your soul until you’re nothing but a mindless husk.”

“Now, now,” comes another squeaky voice. The Stalker crawls down the rock, smiling gleefully. “It isn’t nice to lie.”

“We only want to play,” pouts the third Stalker, rising into the air, hovering over the rocks. It giggles. “Then we’ll take you to our queen. She’ll be so pleased.”

“So pleased,” echoes the first Stalker, slithering toward us.

I draw my daggers and turn, pressing my back to Will’s. “Can we kill them?”

Will cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders. “You tell me?”

“I’d certainly like to try.”

I imagine I hear a smile in Will’s voice when he says, “That’s the spirit.”

The first Stalker leaps, surprisingly agile, its tentacles outstretched. But I roll, slicing my daggers in a smooth arc, and the Stalker shrieks as purple blood spews from two missing arms.

The shriek turns to giggling, as if the wound merely tickled the monster. It lurches at me again, swiping at me almost playfully, but as I dodge each blow, slicing at its slimy arms, its laughter grows more hysterical.

Behind the creature, two Stalkers converge on Will.

I think I scream his name as he lifts his hands, and the Stalker in front of me blocks my view of him.

It reels back, preparing to strike, but I don’t wait.

I charge the creature, throwing the full force of my weight into my strike, crossing my daggers as I plunge them into the Stalker’s chest and carve an X with my blades.

Purple blood splashes my face as the Stalker wails. I move back just as it collapses, its tentacles sprawling, and catch a glimpse of Will.

He had insisted he not be allowed to carry any weapons, and as I watch him rip the tentacles from one Stalker’s body before throwing out his hand to bury the other beneath a pile of rocks, I see why.

Will is the weapon.

The remaining Stalker launches high overhead, circling. I step, as if to move toward Will, when a tentacle wraps around my leg, yanking me backward. My face smacks the rock, my vision blurring, but I cling to consciousness with all my might, twisting my body and slashing at the tentacle with enough force that the Stalker lets go.