Page 130 of Bone Year

The bell tolls again, and Draven drops to his knees next to me.

“Rose, package the wound. We need to move.”

I shake my head. That’s not what our training is. Packaging is for clean cuts.

“There are barbed spines in the wound.” My voice is low so the men don’t hear. “Corruption is already visible.”

Draven goes still. He takes one slow breath, nods once, and takes the pack from me. He shoves one of his daggers into my hand.

“Cover my back.”

I nod, in disbelief he’s trusting me with watching his back. I’m even more thankful he didn’t tell me to cut the corruption out myself, because we both know how that would have gone. I whirl around and search the snow and the rooftops for the spineback.

“Do you know how many there are?” I shout over the wind at the two men.

The bearded one with the bow shifts his weapon. “I’ve only seen two.”

His eyes are tracking the sky. Then they snap past me, and I watch them go wide.

He isn’t looking at the sky anymore.

I flip around.

A twisted polar bear is coming toward us across the snow.

Easily over a thousand pounds, it pauses ten yards out and lifts its snout into the air, taking long deep inhales, like it’s trying to figure out what kind of meal we’ll make. Its ears are too long. Something black is oozing from the corners of its eyes and running down its face in slow streaks, staining the matted white fur in long dark tears.

The eyes themselves are bright red, and it’s looking at us like it wants to find out what’s underneath our skin.

“Draven.” I reach behind me without taking my eyes off the bear, my hand finding his shoulder.

I don’t know if this is one of those times when you keep eye contact or one of those times when you don’t. We haven’t covered twisted polar bears in class. If they’re anything like normal polar bears, this one definitely wants to know what’s inside us and probably wants us for breakfast on top of it.

“Kind of busy, Rose.”

I grab the top of his half up bun and yank his head sideways so he’s looking at the bear.

“Oh.”

Behind us, the two men break and run for the nearest cottage.

I don’t know whether to call them cowards or smart. They left their friend face down in the snow.

The bear lowers its head. Its red eyes lock onto mine. It charges.

I have no time to react. I plant my feet in the snow and bring the dagger up in front of me, and Draven gets to his feet beside me. His wings burst out of his back in a flash of darkness so fast I feel the air pull around us.

He sweeps his other arm forward.

Shadows pour out of his palm.

I can’t look at the bear anymore. I’m staring at him, awestruck, as hundreds of small dark shapes peel out of his hand into the air around him. Hundreds of bats. Shadow stretched into wings and body and teeth. They condense in a wave above his head and pour past my shoulder in one long, shrieking cloud.

I whip around.

The bear is already trying to flee.

It’s halfway turned, plowing back toward the tree line, hundreds of small shadow shapes digging into its back and shoulders and face. Black tears run down its fur. Black wings cling to its head and rip at its eyes. It bellows and crashes through the snow into the trees.