Page 57 of Death Will Follow

Twenty-Three

It was nearly nightfall on the second day when they reached the boundary of the Wylds. No markings indicated where the untamed wilderness began, but Nova sensed it, as did the others. Even the horses came up short, nickering nervously as they took a few steps backward. Nova dismounted, boots squelching in the sodden ground, leaving Shade free to wander. Callan and the Wyldlings did the same, readying themselves with weapons and provisions. Though they intended the trip into the Wylds to be short, there was no knowing how long it would take. Besides, time was a slippery thing on the moors, folk said.

After securing the map at his waist, Callan motioned for the others to follow. Inhaling a steadying breath, Nova trailed a step behind him and entered the Wylds. All at once, a cool fog enveloped them, thick enough to cause moisture to bead on their skin.

“No one move,” Callan warned. “Wyld magic may have already turned us around. Keep close while we get our bearings.”

He unrolled the map, perusing it with eyes squinted in the low light. Dropping a hand, he fished out the moonstone he kept in the pouch at his hip. Holding it near the parchment, Callan glanced back and forth between the pale light illuminating the map and the sky overhead, searching for Illora, the constant star. A waypoint by which to navigate. Bryn and Riven crowded him, tapping their fingers against the scroll in turns and arguing about which way was which.

Nova tipped her head to the sky, but nothing shone through the thick fog swirling around them. To her left, a sharp cry cut through the eerie whistle of the wind racing along the moors. She shot a glance at the others, but they continued arguing as if they’d heard nothing. Taking a few cautious steps in the direction of the noise, Nova peered into the nothingness, head cocked, ears straining to hear if it would come again. Another mournful cry, like that of a lost child, reached her. In the same instant, a faint blue glow appeared in the distance, winking in and out like a firefly.

Without conscious thought, Nova hastened toward the flickering light. When, at last, she reached it, she found a lantern with a blue flame burning within.

“Hello again, miss.”

Unsheathing her dagger, Nova spun at the small voice directly behind her. With a gasp, she recognized the youngling from the alleyway whose cursed hands she’d mended. But what was he doing in the Wylds? So far from the city and all alone?

“Startled you, did I?” The child grinned, the expression unsettling her given the circumstances. Hadn’t she heard him crying only a moment before?

She looked beyond him to where Callan and the others stood, still disagreeing over the map. She hadn’t realized she’d strayed so far; their voices were slowed, distorted as if carrying over a great distance.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sheathing her dagger and willing her startled heartbeat to slow.

“I followed you,” the boy replied matter-of-factly.

“A bit foolish, don’t you think?” Nova tsked. She gestured around them. “Look where you’ve ended up.”

He glanced about at the swirling mist, a knowing smile never leaving his lips.

“Are you lost?” he asked, tilting his head, emerald-green eyes taking on a mischievous glint.

Callan, Bryn, and Riven remained in the same spot, huddled around the map.

“I suppose I am,” she sighed. “We’re here to find the burial mounds.”

The boy nodded slowly. “I know the place.”

“You do?” Nova crouched down in front of him.

He nodded again, his smile spreading wider. Nova leaned back slightly, a warning flickering in her gut.

“Would you . . .” He dipped his chin, stifling a laugh. “Would you like me to take you there?”

Nova considered for a beat. By the looks of it, she and her companions could use all the help they could get. “If you truly know the way, then yes.”

The boy laughed, an impish giggle that echoed around her as a flash of blue light blinded her. Nova stumbled to her feet, blinking rapidly. When her vision returned, Callan and the Wyldlings were gone. She whirled in an unsteady circle, expecting with each breath to lay eyes upon the others, but they’d disappeared entirely. Laughter bubbled up behind her, and she spun to face the boy once again.

“Where are my friends? Where have you taken me?” she demanded, rushing the child who continued to snicker, obviously delighted by the trick.

“I simply brought you where you asked to go,” he replied, laughter finally drying up. His eyes went wide, but Nova recognized it as a mockery of innocence; this was no youngling.

“You asked did I want you to take us there,” Nova hissed, stomping through the wet grass and squinting into the fog, her patience razor-thin.

“I asked if you wanted me to take you there,” he clarified. “And you agreed.”

Finding no sign of Callan or the others, Nova turned back to the sprite, planting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. It was suddenly so obvious to her, the exaggerated guise of childhood. The eyes and mouth a bit too large for the small, round face. The voice a bit too shrill. She chided herself for not seeing it sooner, but she was here now. What was she going to do about it?

“Very well. You’ve had your fun,” she scolded, assuming the tone of a nagging schoolteacher eager for the afternoon bell. She held her arms out wide at her sides. “You said you’d take me to the burial mounds, so where are they?”