Fortune's Blight by Evie Manieri

Author:Evie Manieri
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429960069
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Chapter 21

Lahlil tried not to keep turning back to check on Jachad as she pushed through the woods later that evening, but she couldn’t help it. She had let him rest as long as she could after the bleeding, but now he stumbled along behind her, rag-doll limp and barely able to keep the pace, while insects swarmed around the bloodstained bandage and roots trolled the ground as if purposefully snatching at his ankles. He had not mentioned the striders, not even once, but the way he avoided her eyes made her wish she had kept her silence. She had warned him before not to make excuses for her. Now she wished he would say something, anything. As for Isa, when she wasn’t plaguing Lahlil with questions about how far they had to go and how long it would take to get there, she disappeared behind a chilly curtain of condemnation.

The rain was holding off, but the darkness was making navigation difficult. It didn’t help that she’d avoided this area for so long. She tried not to let the others see her relief when they came into a clearing ringed by tree stumps.

“What’s that noise?” asked Jachad.

“The river,” said Lahlil, listening to the rushing sound beneath the forest’s relentless insect drone. “This way.”

The trees thinned out about thirty paces further along. A simple cabin with shuttered windows and a stone chimney sat in a cleared yard next to stacks of logs and a fenced-in coop. No light slipped through the shutters but she could smell the woodsmoke, even if she couldn’t see it against the cloudy sky. The land sloped down to a muddy bank and the sound of the Truant flowed into her weariness like some insidious lullaby.

She wanted there to be some other way. She knew what it would be like for them to have her appear on their doorstep, as callously indifferent to what they had built here as a forest fire. She was a walking catastrophe.

<That doesn’t look—> Isa began, and then a twig snapped behind her.

Lahlil slid out of her pack and drew her sword. She didn’t see a man at all, at first; all she saw was the momentum of the axe swinging out of the darkness toward her. It was a woodsman’s axe and not a battle-axe, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. She threw her cheap sword aside—it would never have withstood that blow without breaking—and dived onto the wet leaves. Isa had drawn her sword as well, but at Lahlil’s hasty order, she placed herself in front of Jachad instead.

Their attacker swung through his missed blow and then used the momentum of the upstroke to turn around so he could come at her again.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jachad spark both hands into flame.

“Jachi, no!”

But her warning came too late and he collapsed backward against the tree, clutching at his chest with his fingers still dripping blood-red sparks and his head rolling to one side.

<Look out!> Isa cried.

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