THE TWINS PASSED RUAH’S back garden and walked downhill. The village stood on an elevated plateau that overlooked Broken Cliffs and the sea. As they descended, they passed a paddock where shaggy sheep grazed in high grass. Their bells jingled wildly as they ran toward the other side of the paddock, as far from Fierran as they could. Fierran paused, glanced at them, and licked his snout, dying to squeeze himself between the two horizontal logs of the paddock and chase the sheep.
“Don’t,” Elya said, gently yet firmly, as if she sensed what he was up to.
Fierran whined and kept walking beside Whitecap with a guilty, apologetic glance up at her.
As they descended toward the cliffs, the hum of the sea replaced the jingling of the sheep bells. Elya inhaled the salty air, a wide smile spreading across her face. Baard loved to see her like that. She always smiled around people, but when she thought that nobody saw her, her face often turned sad and pensive. Baard knew what it was. Mother’s illness and Father’s drinking were like two deep shadows cast over their souls.
In the good old days, which only ended a few months ago when Mother had started coughing blood, Baard used to go logging with Father while Mother and Elya weaved cloth or made wicker baskets. Now he always took Elya with him so she didn’t have to stay in the gloomy place their hut had become. Mother usually slept in any case, and Father hardly noticed when they left.
“By the Sleeping Goddess, doesn’t this sound beautiful, Baard?” Elya said, turning her ear toward the sea.
“It does, sister.”
The hum of the waves was her favorite sound, just as the sun sparkling on the sea surface was his favorite sight. Elya had given Whitecap her name when Mother had told her that the horse was the same color as the spuming crests of high waves. There were plenty of whitecaps today, chasing one after another to crash into the cliffs about a hundred feet below, which was strange on a clear summer day. Four seagulls circled above the sea. One had a morsel in its beak, and the others tried to steal, it, screeching angrily.
Suddenly, Elya’s smile waned. “The waves seemed to be higher than usual today. The sea is mad, just like the Wrathlord. What could the king have done to offend him? Anyway, we should get everything done fast and return home.” She clucked at Whitecap to make her walk faster.
The hum grew into a roar as the path joined Blizzardshore Road, which wound around the edge of the cliff. The road was rocky, and Whitecap’s hooves occasionally slipped on large pebbles. Scared of heights, Elya took her breath in short intakes and clenched the reins so hard her hands shook. Baard patted her knee to calm her, but she only relaxed when the road bent and led them toward the forest.
Hareth had told Baard that Blizzardshore Road was nearly forty miles long, going through the forest and descending slowly until it reached the sea level at Blizzardshore, where a sandy bay replaced the cliffs. But Baard had never been more than a few miles down that road.
“What’s happening, Baard?” Elya said, twitching on Whitecap’s back. “I sense danger!”
“I don’t know,” Baard said. “I can’t see any—”
An enormous flock of birds came from the woods and flew over them, obscuring the sunshine and screeching hysterically. One fell at his feet with a loud thud as if it had flown so fast and far it had died in the mid-flap of its wings.
As the flock passed and the screeching faded, Baard said, “Birds.” He tried to sound calm. “Just another crazed flock of birds.”
As he turned his head back toward the forest, the trees began to disappear. Before he realized what was happening, a dark fog billowed toward them and turned the day into a moonless night.
“What’s wrong?” Elya shouted. “It’s so cold, all of a sudden!”
As he opened his mouth to explain, strange clicking and hissing came from the sudden darkness. Fierran growled and Whitecap screamed. Baard groped for the rein and grasped it.
“Oh, Sleeping Goddess,” Elya said. “Ruah says that’s how Corpsentinels sound!”
The hissing and clicking seemed to come closer. Whitecap screamed in horror and twisted around. Baard hissed in pain when the reins were yanked out of his hands, burning his skin.
“No!” he screamed when he heard the horse’s hooves pounding the ground.
“Baard!” Elya’s shout already seemed to come from far away. He guessed that she tried to make Whitecap stop, but the thudding of the hooves grew fainter and fainter. Fortunately, they seemed to be going back to Icecreek. Baard hoped the horse could see or sense the road and find the village. Fierran had surely followed them, so Elya should be safe.
But what about him?
He blinked to get his eyes accustomed to the darkness. He was used to walking at night without a torch, and he believed he could follow the road, which was like a slightly lighter gash in the darkness of the plain. He hurried up the road toward Icecreek, wondering what was happening. He had never seen a black fog before. It almost looked like thick smoke, but there was no fire.
He thought he heard the beating of hooves, but since it came from behind him, it couldn’t be Whitecap. Another hissing and clicking came, and he heard himself groan in horror. He rushed on, yanking the ax free from the loop on his belt. Only the pebbles crunching under his feet told him he was still on the road.
He wanted to call Elya’s name, but he didn’t dare make a sound. What if another Corpsentinel chased her and Whitecap? What if a whole horde of those monsters stormed Icecreek?
Baard ran wildly toward the village. Many times, he stumbled and nearly cut himself with the ax. He already thought he was lost, but then he heard the sheep. Their bleating and the clinging of their bells carried eerily through the strange darkness, but it told him he was near the village. Baard rushed toward the sounds, like a starved man drawn by the clinking of cutlery. Grass replaced the pebbles under his soles. He thought he could see the grayish outlines of the nearest sheep.
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The sheep seemed to run away from him. That wouldn’t be so strange, but a voice in the back of his head told him that something was not right: the paddock was on a hillside, but he didn’t feel the ground rising under his feet. If anything, he seemed to run downhill.
The roar of the sea came over the noise of the sheep. Another hiss just yards behind him, and he kept running along with the flock, ignoring the voice that now screeched at him to stop.
A moment later, the bleating and ringing that had come from farther ahead suddenly faded. The sheep closest to him bleated in panic.
A stray thought slammed into his head. The cliff! The sheep are falling off the cliff!
The thought outpaced his reaction. Before he could make himself stop, the ringing ended and the bleating faded, replaced by the sickening thuds of the sheep hitting the out-jutting rocks on the cliff face and dying on impact. Then he slipped.
As his back hit the edge of the cliff, he thought that he would plummet to his death. At the last moment, though, he dropped the ax and grabbed onto a twig of a shrub, and he hung over the cliff. The twig felt so thin he feared it would break in a moment. The sea roared below as if it were calling him.
He grabbed the cliff’s ledge with his other hand and pulled himself up. His legs shook too badly for him to stand, so he crawled away from the edge as if he were the only surviving sheep.
The roar of the sea was the only thing to be heard now. Was the Corpsentinel gone? Or skulking in the dark?
Baard got to his wobbly feet, trying to figure out what happened. Something must have broken the paddock and chased the sheep over the cliff. And he had nearly gone over along with them. At least now he knew he should head straight ahead, away from the cliff.
He groped for the ax, found it tottering over the cliff’s edge, and let the haft slide through the loop. He stumbled toward Icecreek, and the roar of the sea slowly faded. His heart fluttered whenever grass rustled under his feet, for he thought that something stalked him. No more hissing or clicking came, and in the silence, he could nearly hear the strange fog rolling around.
At last, the ground began to rise. He bumped his shin and thigh against two pieces of wood. Running his hands over the obstacle, he realized it was the logs of the paddock. He walked alongside the paddock, his hand tracing the upper logs, and when he reached the corner, he headed uphill.
Hilts and blades, how can Elya live her life in continuous darkness? He wished she was with him to guide him.
Baard twitched at the sound of footfalls. It was like a large beast running. A powerful tug on his tunic made him stagger. He reached for his ax when he heard Elya.
“Baard!”
The shout came from about a hundred paces uphill. He realized that what he thought was an attacking dog was actually Fierran trying to lead him toward her.
“Elya, I’m coming!” he called as he thankfully let the large, strong wolf drag him along.
At last, he saw her standing beside another feminine outline and a bulky grayish shadow: Ruah and Whitecap. He trotted toward his sister and hugged her.
“I was so worried about you, Baard,” she said, tears in her voice. “Thank the Sleeping Goddess you are well. What happened?”
“I don’t know, sister. I got lost. Something kept hissing and clicking in the forest. All the sheep . . . they broke from the paddock and fell over the cliff.”
“Oh, no,” Elya whispered. “The Wrathlord is truly angry.
“And I fear that worse is to come,” Ruah added. “Let us rush to the village.”
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WHILE RUAH, BAARD, AND even Whitecap stumbled and tottered in the dark, Fierran and Elya led them with a steady foot. To Baard’s relief, the fog dissipated the higher they went, and as they reached the plateau, all was clear again.
When he turned his head, the fog wallowed below, making him feel as if he were looking down at a storm cloud from the top of a high mountain. The fog almost seemed too heavy to climb higher. But it was rising.
“Soon, the fog will reach us and swallow the village,” Ruah said with a scowl.
“And the creatures of the Wrathlands might follow,” said Elya.
The market square was empty, and so were the paths, for it was already lunchtime. Smoke came through the brick chimneys of the houses where food was still being prepared; utensils clinked in the homes where people were already eating. A peal of laughter came from a nearby dwelling; a child squealed playfully next door. People had no idea about the looming trouble. But the cows bawled, and Corwyn’s horses kicked their stalls.
As they reached the square, Ruah turned to the twins. “Go straight home and bar the door and shutter the windows. I’ll go talk to the mayor. We have to alert everybody to lock themselves in.”
Baard shot a look at the inn, wondering if Diara was safe at home. Oh, and Hareth.
“I’ll make sure she’s fine, Baard,” Ruah said, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. It was the first time in months she had called him by his first name only. “You take care of your family.”
“Thank you, Mistress Ruah,” Baard said, hoping he didn’t blush. “We’d better go, then.”
As they rushed home, he looked over his shoulder. The fog was rolling in. It had already swallowed the grove of oaks and Ruah’s dwelling. As they reached their hut, he said, “I’ll stable Whitecap.”
Elya nodded. “And I will tell Mother and Father.”
Elya and Fierran entered, and Baard led Whitecap into the small stable. As he quickly unharnessed her, he wished he could rub her down with dry straw, but he feared there was no time for that.
“Be safe, my beauty,” he murmured to her as he scratched her between her eyes. “If only there was enough space for you in the house! Let’s hope the fog will soon dissipate!”
He turned to the peg to hang the ax, but then he decided to take it home in case of an attack. As he left, he made sure to bar the wooden door.
As he entered the hut, Father stood by the window. He was taller than most men in the village, and nearly as tall as Baard, but his shoulders sloped as if Mother’s illness weighed too heavily on them. His long, thinning hair and graying beard glistened with grease.
“Hello, Father,” Baard said as he barred the door and leaned the ax against the wall beside it.
Father nodded to him without a word, then turned his bloodshot eyes back to the window. As Baard barred the door and passed him, a whiff of plum brandy punched his nose.
Elya sat on Mother’s side of the bed. Mother’s eyes were closed, just like Elya’s, and for a moment Baard feared she was dead. He had this fear many times a day, whenever Mother fell asleep, and he only calmed when he saw her chest heave. Those moments were even worse than when she was awake and coughing blood. She had lost so much weight her head looked like a skull covered with grayish skin.
“I told Father,” Elya whispered. “But when Mother wakes, let’s just say a storm is coming.”
“Good idea, sister,” Baard told her, turning to the hearth.
He scooped out last night’s ashes and kindled a fire. As the flames illuminated the planks of the walls, he looked out the window. The fog rolled up the path.
Father cursed under his breath and slammed the shutters shut. He walked on unsteady feet to the kitchen table, sat down, and stared into oblivion. As he scarcely spoke these days, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. Was he afraid of what could creep through the fog?
Baard jumped when a knock came on the door. Elya, who was stroking Mother’s hand, gasped and froze. Father lifted his head, his lips moving as if he was speaking. Fierran growled, his hackles rising, but then he seemed to calm, as did Elya. Mother coughed and gurgled in her sleep.
“Who is it?” Baard called, trying to keep his voice steady.
“It’s Diara.”
Baard’s heart jumped. He dashed to the door and unbarred it. Diara stood there, a worried look on her face. The fog was only a few paces behind her, a dark wall of it, as if it had stalked her up the street.
She leaped over the threshold and pulled Baard into a crushing hug. “Ruah said you got lost in the woods,” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank the Sleeping Goddess you are well!”
Baard’s heart pounded. It was the first time she had hugged him, and he didn’t know what to do. Before he could wrap his hands around her, she broke the embrace, and he wanted to punch himself. You sawdust-headed idiot!
The next moment, the fog slithered inside the hut and embraced them as if jealous of their affection.