Page 121 of A Courage of the Chosen

Turns out, the big guy has a little performance anxiety when there are three people in plain view while a rock hides the lower half of his body. Both myself and Rachel take great pleasure in teasing him, until Callahan tells us all to behave and sends us on ahead up the path so we can get moving again.

The last part of the hike is ruthless, forcing us to scramble along precarious rock slides blocking the path, and navigating slopes that we absolutely have no business trying to get up.

This is why supplies haven’t reached the Druids in so long. We’re barely surviving this trip with the bare essentials, let alone what the Seelie of Ruival might need.

At our altitude, the only sounds keeping me company are the wind, and the thudding of my heart in my own ears.

Daylight is slowly disappearing, and the stars begin winking to life on a multicolored canvas above us, the temperature dropping a few degrees at a time until my panted breath curls in little clouds.

The road ahead curves with the mountain, and as we round that bend, the air shifts. Awareness prickles over the surface of my clammy skin, and an energy that’s familiar, yet not, presses down.

The four of us look to each other, and the agony in my legs no longer matters.

The path evens out into a flat gravel with large chunks missing that lead to certain death if you make a misstep. The jagged gray rock soars high above us on the left, as a solid wall, and the snow-capped tips are enveloped by the growing night.

In single-file, we shimmy along, quietly calling out to each other where the ground seems unstable beneath our feet. Callahan leads the way with me behind him, Rach behind me, and Brodie at the back, and we’re holding onto each other like our lives depend on it. My hand threaded through Cal’s in front, Rach’s behind, and the same for her. An unspoken agreement that we do not let go. I dare not even breathe too heavily in case one wrong puff sends us careening down the mountain.

All the while, the energy continues to build around us and the static calls to my light, teasing it to the surface.

“Can you feel that?” I whisper, when the tug becomes impossible to resist. Mist drips from the ends of my fingers, wrapping around my wrists and the hands I clasp.

“Yeah,” Rach replies, her magic joining mine. The threads of our power dance with one another, warm where they caress our skin.

The energy residing here is tinged with a cognizance that’s foreign, as though it’s sentient, and watching us navigate this last stretch of the trek to see what we’ll do when we reach the other end.

My eyes remained glued to Callahan’s back until the tension in his shoulders disappears entirely, and he lets go of my sweaty hand.

“We’re here.”

His voice is too loud for this place, blanketed in the kind of hush that comes with somewhere void of life. The wall to our left stretches and curves around, providing shelter to the village resting on the plateau. There are more homes here than there were down in Klunnoch, and they’re remarkably well kept.

Around forty of them stand in a large semi-circle with the rock face at their backs. Their pale stone fronts reflect the moon that’s now risen, and trees are littered between the single-story terraces. Each of them has a small garden at the front, teeming with wild flowers, fruit trees, and vegetable planters.

Slicing through the middle of it all is a wide stream that cuts sharply toward the cliff face, and cascades off in a glittering spray as gravity carries it down the mountain.

At the far side of the space are a series of cave entrances. I count at least five gaping holes with haunting blackness, warding off anyone getting too close.

Together, the four of us venture further forward until we’re standing at the heart of it. Each of the homes are covered in crude, Celtic runes. They’re etched into the stone and the wooden doors, even the slate tiles atop them bear the same marks. The sensation of being watched only grows the longer we’re here, and every crunch of gravel beneath our feet is louder than gunfire.

It’s instinctive to reach for Cal’s mind, instead of shattering the silence woven into this village. “Do we say something?”

The only reply I get from him is a single, curt nod, and his hand slowly moves to the short sword secured to his hip.

“Hello?” I croak out the greeting, my throat dry from the climb and air pressure. It cleaves through the air and even the wind stills.

We wait . . . and we wait.

Have the Druids left? Or worse, are we about to stumble on a bunch of rotten corpses, because there was no way for them to get the goods they need along the one route in and out of here?

My pulse trips, and my body crawls like we’re being watched. The others feel it, too, and we subconsciously press closer together.

A ball of brilliant blue light takes shape in the mouth of the biggest cave, and I tense with the memories of the last time she came to me.

The same will-o-the-wisp led me out of that dungeon and to safety. It was there when I strode to meet Tavish in battle. And while every instinct I have tells me not to go into the cave, I know that what we seek is in there.

I silently follow, and my friends fall into step behind me.

We pass by one of the homes, carefully checking for the Druids that live here. Behind it, surrounded by barren trees that I suspect bloom beautiful delicate flowers in the spring, there’s a large casing made of the same stone belonging to the houses.