14

ROT AND TREACHERY

🙜

The higher the sun rose, the more cheerful Ky became. Her steps were light and she flashed him a wild grin every now and then, and he hoped it meant they were nearing the end of their journey.

There was no denying that they ascended the mountain itself now; the trail they followed began to hug rocky outcroppings and bluffs that were steep enough to break his legs should he slip down them. Through the mists that spread along the Sisters' Footstool—where they had been walking just that morning—he could see a broad expanse of forest stretching out to the horizon with a few patchy clearings that might have been farmers' fields. The river he knew so well seemed different from this angle, each bend and contour of the water visible at a single glance.

"It all looks so small from here," he breathed, squinting against the sunlight and watching it flash on the water far, far below. He thought he could see the spot where his cabin had once rested snugly under the needled branches.

Ky crouched beside him for a few seconds, peering down at the valley. A gust of wind swept her tangled hair away from her face and she turned to smile at him, her skin ashen from the blowing dust.

All she said was, "Not long now," and continued along the path, forcing him to follow or be left behind.

Bracing a hand on the warm gritty stone for a moment, Ember took one last look at the distant river. It twinkled at him, seeming close enough to touch.

When he caught up to the sirena, she was standing at a divergence in the path, glancing between the two. One led higher up the crags, a narrow and perilous trail, and the other sloped downward to what he could only assume was gentler terrain.

"Are you lost?" he asked breathlessly, stopping just behind her.

Ky turned to stare at him. "I am not lost." A slim clawed finger pointed at the higher trail. "The door is beyond this ridge."

"Then let's go!" Ember started toward it, but Ky held up a hand.

He bounced up and down on his aching feet, tired and anxious for their hike to be over.

"What?"

She sniffed twice, loudly, and crouched low where the paths separated. "I go that way while you linger, and the trail is gone."

"Gone?" Ember thwacked the side of the mountain with his spear. "How do you mean?"

"The rock…" Ky paused to gesture with her hands. "…has slid. We cannot go that way."

"Then what's to stop us from trying the other path?" he said impatiently.

She frowned. "Smells foul."

Ember sniffed once, but whatever scent Ky had caught must have been faint indeed.

"Decay," she elaborated. "Rot. Treachery."

"Treachery?"

Ky squinted one eye and flicked her ears at him. "Treachery."

"Well, we don't have much of a choice, do we?" he grunted, doubtful that even the sirena could smell such a thing as treachery. He pointed at the downward-sloping trail. "Can we reach the door from here?"

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"Then let's get it over with."

"Hmmmm…"

Ember set off down the path, slipping once as a few loose rocks rolled out from under his feet, and slung his basket over his shoulder. "Come, Ky!" he called, happy to be beckoning her for once.

As he expected, the stony crags became gentler, more lush, and lined with trees again. Nothing appeared to be an immediate threat, and he slung the spear across his back. The trees they passed were smooth and black, almost petrified in nature, and their leaves were a sickly shade of green. There weren't so many flowers here as there were further down the mountain, but a few bushes lined the path, and when he stopped to examine the road he realized with some excitement that it was not merely a deer trail.

"Ky!" he said excitedly, slinging his spear over his shoulder and kneeling on the grassy slope. He scratched some of the packed dirt away.

Old stones crumbled beneath his fingertips.

"You were right… men did live here."

"Of course I am right," she said, her voice distant. He glanced back and saw that she was keeping well away from the trail.

His heart pounded in his chest. "So we are going the right way!"

"Hmm."

"This must have been part of the original road that led to the door."

"The mountain never parts with its secrets," she murmured, "so easily. I do not like this path. It stinks of dead flesh."

"I don't see anything strange, do you?"

But Ember knew what she meant; even he could smell it now. It was a cloying, fermenting odor, reminiscent of the leaves he used to cover the root vegetables in his garden. It also reminded him of a rotting deer carcass he had found once in the woods, but he tried not to think about that.

He took a few more steps, and then stopped in the middle of the road.

His scalp prickled; a foreboding hung over the ancient cobblestones, warning him away even as his waking eyes assured him that nothing was the matter. A faint breeze drifted past, blowing a mist across the ruins, and the air shimmered. He blinked, but the road lay smooth and straight before him.

Was the heat playing tricks with his eyes?

Mistrustful, Ember stepped forward once more, testing the ground.

Nothing happened.

Better to be cautious…

He decided to walk around the cobblestones, toward the woods, but had not gone more than six paces when a bit of dirt shifted underfoot and tiny stones plinked and echoed nearby, as if he had kicked them over a ravine.

In an instant, the illusion of solid ground rippled away to reveal a deep crevice in the earth, gaping wide like a pair of ravenous jaws—it stretched from one side of the road to the other, several body-lengths in width, and he was leaning too far to catch himself.

The rift beneath him gave a grumble of monstrous proportions, and as he tipped forward he glimpsed many shadows swirling below. Deeper still, a single ray of sunlight pierced the darkness to reveal bleached and rotting bones shattered across many breakneck precipices.

All this he saw in a moment, and he had less than that to react.

Ember let the basket slide from his arm and threw out both hands, fingertips barely scraping the rocky soil on the opposite ledge. His knees banged into the stone and he lost his grip, scrambling to find a handhold before he fell and broke every bone in his body.

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"Ember!"

A pale blur appeared in his periphery and something slammed into the wall. A thin arm lashed out and pinned his shoulders in place; when he turned his head, the sirena was clinging to the rock beside him, mouth agape. He glanced down just as the basket bounced off the edge of the ravine.

The remaining apples went tumbling in opposite directions, his blanket unraveled, and the basket vanished into oblivion.

"Up!" she said loudly, shifting her grip to his arm and giving him a shove. He felt along the mouth of the ravine and wedged his fingers between crumbling cobblestones, dragging himself over the edge.

When he turned back, Ky grasped his hand to pull herself up—and a low rumble echoed below. Before he could so much as shout a warning, one of the tempestuous shadows slithered upward and the siren squeaked in angry surprise. Her claws dug into the mountain, dislodging bits of dirt and debris, and Ember lurched forward as she was drawn back into the void, grabbing hold of anything he could to keep from toppling in.

Ky began babbling in a foreign tongue, a twisty-tangle of sonants and syllables that Ember was at a loss to comprehend; shadows shrank away, but the ceaseless grumble rose to an angry, high-pitched buzz.

Strength surged through his limbs.

He pulled as hard as he could, each grasping the other's elbow.

At last something gave—he hoped it wasn't one of Ky's bones—and he managed to tug her upward slightly. A low burble echoed from the bowels of the pit and the shadows roiled beneath them like a sea of black snakes.

She snarled and burrowed her claws into Ember's forearm as she slipped, tearing the cloth and the flesh underneath.

"AaAAagh!"

Ember's eyes watered and he dug his toes into the turf, half-blinded by pain. He kept his other hand knotted around tufts of thick grass, and the sirena continued to scratch and scrabble, ripping away clods of hard-packed dirt. She kicked out with both feet and he saw that the shadowy mass had coiled itself around her ankles.

"Leave off!" he shouted hoarsely, which did absolutely nothing.

The sirena let out a single shriek—raw, fierce, and excruciating—that set Ember's ears to ringing and made him cry out in turn.

The shadow withered, watery arms retreating into the void.

Ky jerkingly reached up with her free hand, wrapping her fingers around Ember's head, and clambered over him to freedom.

As soon as she was out of danger, he rolled away from the pit and struggled to his knees. Thin drops of dark blood spattered the cobblestones, but he couldn't tell whose it was.

His head swam and his arm felt warm and numb.

"Quickly! Away," she hissed, grasping his wrist and towing him to his feet.

Ember didn't argue.

He stumbled after her, chest thudding and ears still painfully ringing.

They sprinted down the road until he felt his lungs would burst, Ky leading the way and hawkishly watching the terrain ahead of them. When he finally dropped in the middle of a grassy knoll, she let go of his hand and sat down, blinking rapidly.

He had no words to offer for several minutes (it was all he could do to draw breath), but Ky hummed and muttered to herself like an agitated animal. It unsettled him, chafing at his already-frayed nerves, and he finally felt he had to interrupt her.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I would have fallen."

Her silence took him by surprise.

When it became clear he expected a response, she said, "I know."

"Aren't you going to… thank me, too?" he asked sheepishly.

She stared flatly at him. "I say not to go that way at all. It stinks."

"It smells nicer here," he pointed out. "Anyway, where else would we have gone? It’s not as if you were suggesting an alternative."

More silence.

Ember sighed, giving up. "I just hope there's nothing like that lying in wait behind your door."

"It is not my door—"

"I know, I know…" He sucked in a quick breath, poking at his arm. It throbbed, but the stinging sensation was gradually diminishing. "It's the mountain’s door."

Ky shifted, her fingers twitching, and Ember glanced up. "Are you hurt?"

"I am well." But as she spoke, she pulled up the hem of her trousers and revealed a rather gruesome looking set of lacerations and purple bruises. Instead of shuddering or gasping—as Ember expected, having lived with a sister for so many years—she licked the palm of her hand and began to scrub away the dirt and trickles of bluish-red blood.

While she fussed with her injuries, Ember peeled back his torn sleeve and examined the damage done by her claws. The blood had mostly congealed, but a few fresh drops trickled down his wrist when he flexed the muscle.

"Good thing I didn't drop you," he muttered, feeling a little spiteful.

Ky made a sticky noise in the back of her throat which was almost a whine.

Then she reached for his arm, licking her fingers again.

"That… won't be necessary," he said hastily, yanking his arm out of her reach and covering it protectively with his hand. "Besides, I saw some knitbone growing along the trail."

"Knitbone?"

"Broad, flat leaves, little yellow flowers shaped like stars—"

"Ah! I will procure some for you." And Ky rose to her feet, brushing off her hands and smiling down at him. "It is not far."

For all her indignation, she still seemed eager to make amends, and Ember did not know what to think of this contradiction. He sat up a bit straighter, still holding his arm, and glanced anxiously up the mountain path. It loomed ahead of them, ominous and grey.

"Hurry back."

"You will not miss me!" she called, sprinting down the trail.

"I might," he admitted dryly, somewhat under his breath.

But she was already gone.

Wincing, Ember peeled back his sleeve and stared at the lacerations. They were both shallow and deep: the punctures where she had first latched hold were by far the deepest, and trailed into mere scratches from there.

Ky had not been gone more than a minute or two when Ember began to feel uneasy. The sun shone down very hot and each time a breeze rolled past he shivered, sweat drying on his bare skin. His wounds itched and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to scratch at them. A faint whistle caught his ear and he glanced suspiciously into the woods beside the path. At first he thought it might have been an echo, but then it came again and every hair on his body prickled at the sound.

He'd heard it before, echoing down from the Sisters.

A footstep rustled in the leaves nearby.

Ember stood up, painfully grabbing the fishing spear in his injured hand and taking a deep breath. The air was heavy with musk… and flowers. He sighed, lowering the spear.

"Thank the Maker."

No reply.

Ember peered into the shadows. "Ky?"

The scent intensified. It was not unlike the scent which followed his traveling companion, but now he noticed that it was more herbaceous than floral. He took a step forward, craning his neck, and glimpsed a slender shadow melting behind a tree.

There was a swift flash of red—like a bird in flight—but it was gone a moment later.

"Don't play games with me," begged Ember, aiming the spear where he had last seen the elusive figure. His hand shook. "Do you have the knitbone or don't you?"

A low hum vibrated through the blackwood trees—more sonorous and ethereal than the sweetest human voice. Power caught in a single note, like a butterfly quivering in a spider's web.

It pulsed in time with his beating heart, and as he hearkened to it, oddly disjointed sounds echoed around him: soft feathered wings which fluttered past, twigs that snapped and crackled endlessly, and the summer insects droning in the bushes—all of this merged with the humming tone.

Ember advanced, swallowing once and nervously wetting his lips, spear in hand. He glimpsed the shadow one last time; it drifted between the trees, fading deeper into the forest before simply vanishing from view. Only a shifting patch of sunlight lingered in its place.

Wait.

Just wait.

Don't be a fool.

He stuffed that voice of warning deep inside his mind, where it was only a muffled complaint, and took another step toward the woods—a passage awaited him where there had been none, foliage curling round and round in a strange leafy tunnel that seemed to shrink and elongate before his eyes.

A lonely footpath through the trees.

Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Had it been there all along?

Ember's heart was near to bursting in his chest.

He swallowed again to steady himself… don't be a fool… but he had seen too much, heard too much, and his feet carried him onward, through the flowered bushes and into the rustling woods.