Page 46 of Anathema

He’d never failed to kill a target in his life. Not even the very first assassination he’d carried out for the king. Taking life had always come easy for him. The flame had never betrayed him that way.

Go back, his mind urged. Finish.

Going back would only make him look like an incompetent fool. Still pacing, he stared down at his hands, trying to wrap his head around what the fuck had happened back there. His own power had turned on him.

Snarling with rage, he kept on through the forest, and halfway to the Umbravale, the sense of something watching him tickled the back of Zevander’s neck. He clicked his tongue, surveying the surroundings, listening. Evanidusz, the power he’d summoned to vanish into black smoke, had zapped him of energy, skewing his senses.

Yet, over the rustling of trees, he caught the quiet crunch of dried leaves.

He slipped behind a crooked oak beside him and, in the distance, watched a shadowy figure step into the moon’s light. At first, it was difficult to discern if he was human, or animal, the way his torso was bent and long, branching horns stuck up from his head, but the more he stared, the more he realized it was no animal. It hobbled closer, and Zevander’s tattoos lifted from his body, just as they had back in the girl’s room, forming a black smoke that engulfed him, cloaking him in the darkness. Still, he could see the figure who dared to edge closer. Closer.

The burn across his skin warned that whatever approached was about to be reduced to ash, and Zevander breathed deeply, calming the power in him that itched to break free.

A crackling sound from behind seemed to capture the beast’s attention, and it turned, lowered to all fours, and took off in the opposite direction.

Once it had dashed out of sight, Zevander stepped out of the black smoke and kept on through the woods, until he arrived at the Umbravale, where he’d first entered the mortal forest. He passed through, still cursing himself as he trekked the long stretch of Hagsmist forest. When he finally exited, he found the guard where he’d left him, guarded by the scorpions whose stingers remained pointed and ready to strike. On his approach, Zevander reached out his hand, drawing them back onto his flesh, except for one, and the guard collapsed to the ground, wheezing, as if he’d not taken a single breath the whole time.

Anger still rippled through him as, hands at his back, the Letalisz circled the man whose body trembled. With one hard flick of Zevander’s hand, the scorpion shot out toward the man, too fast for its victim to react. The sound of its legs ticked against the guard’s armor, as it climbed his body to his neck and slipped down into his arm. Before the guard could tear away the gauntlet and sleeve of his tunic, the scorpion had burrowed beneath the skin on his forearm, leaving what looked like a black searing burn on his flesh.

He twisted his arm to show the scorpion wriggling about, settling into its new home. “Ahhh, ahhhhhhh …” His voice held an edge of terror and panic. “Ahhh, it’s in my skin! It’s in my fucking skin!”

“Yes. It is. Should you so much as utter the word Letalisz, or any mention of having seen me, it will be the last time you breathe. And I can’t guarantee that it won’t be the most excruciating death you could possibly suffer.”

“I swear … I won’t say a thing. Just get it out of me! Please!” Arm outstretched and shaking, he collapsed in a pathetic sob that failed to move Zevander.

Particularly when his mind was still wound around that girl.

All he could summon was apathy and a sigh. “’Fraid I can’t do that. He looks quite content. But I might think about it, if you remain loyal. Should anyone breach these woods from the other side, you’ll tell me, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll fucking tell you everything.”

“Good. Good. You two will get along just fine, then.” On those parting words, Zevander whistled, and his horse galloped toward him out of a cloud of black smoke.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MAEVYTH

Wind bit my cheeks as I trudged along a dirt road with a basket full of figs that Lolla had requested I pick up from the village market. Prior to heading out, I’d tucked Raivox away into a moderately-sized crate of blankets, and stored him in the shed behind the Mortuary until my return. My hope was that he’d stay out of trouble, seeing as I’d be gone half the morning.

While in town, I’d visited Mrs. Chalmsley, offering the older woman, whose husband had been banished years ago, the usual bread and broth with a few berries, but saw no sign of the newly-homeless mother and her child from The Banishing.

The ominous border of The Eating Woods stood just off the road, stirring memories of The Banished Man’s haunting face. The visual, so vivid in my head, raised the hairs on my flesh, and when I clamped my eyes to switch my focus to something else, I opened them to find the ghostly image of the Lyverian girl watching me from the trees. “Stop it, stop it!” I smacked at my head, desperate for distraction.

On passing the misty meadow, where the old hovel stood alongside the woods, I noticed The Crone Witch watching me, as she tossed what I presumed to be alfalfa and grain to a black goat penned in a wooden enclosure. Humiliation warmed my cheeks, imagining what I must’ve looked like just then, swatting at myself as if I’d lost my senses.

She waved me over, and without much command from my head, my feet carried me across the open field, toward her. “You got sick,” she said, swapping one tin bucket for the next to feed her animals.

“For a bit. Fever. It passed after a few days.”

“It didn’t pass.” Chickens clustered inside the coop where she tossed cracked corn. “It became a part of you.”

“Part of me? What does that mean?”

Resting her hand atop the fence, she paused, watching them peck at the ground. “Your blood is their blood now.”

“Whose blood?” Nothing she said was making sense.

“The dead, Girl.” Huffing, she swapped the cracked corn for a bucket of water and filled a trough. “Blood given for blood taken. Can’t be undone now.” Blood taken. It was then I knew she’d seen me kill and bury the raven. “Your ties with the dead were eternal the moment you pricked yourself on the bone and sealed it with the blood.” Nabbing her cane propped against the fence, she hobbled toward a small stable, and pondering her words, I followed after her.

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