Page 44 of Edge of the Wild

Oliver drew the collar of his tunic up over his nose and mouth.

Erik moved to stand at one side of the table, fingertips pressed to the edge. He said, “Do it.”

On the other side, pale hair damp and dark with melting snow, Náli nodded, and fished inside his leather coat. He withdrew a shallow, silver bowl no larger than his palm, and a bone-handled knife, its ivory gleaming faintly in the light of the candelabra Leif held.

The door closed, as the servants who’d borne the body left; it was only the four of them, now. Oliver realized what was about to happen – stomach rolling – right before Náli reached with one bare hand into the dead man’s cut-open stomach and gripped a fistful of blood and viscera.

Oliver swallowed a distressed sound; watched, helpless, as the young lord placed the handful in the bowl, and then nicked his own finger with the knife, and added three drops of his own blood to the mixture. He wiped his hands clean on a bit of towel one of the servants had left. Licked the slice on his finger until it had stopped bleeding.

“Náli,” Erik pressed, sternly, lip curled in revulsion.

“Sorry.” Náli reached again into his coat, and came out with a diamond the size of a robin’s egg swinging from a length of silver chain. “Let’s see…”

He held the bowl in one hand, over the dead man’s chest, and with the other he dangled the diamond down on its chain; began slowly to swing it in small circles. He stared at the movement, pupils expanding until his eyes were black pools edged in bloodshot white; his young face went slack, and lined, so that he looked timeless, some ancient frozen in a teenager’s body.

The diamond circled faster, faster, faster – then stopped. Pointed straight down at the bowl of blood, vibrating faintly.

Náli’s eyes closed. He let out a slow, hissing breath through his lips. When his eyes opened, they were a solid, milky white. When he spoke, it was not with his own voice.

“Where – what –gods.” His face crimped, brows furrowing, teeth bared in a rictus of terror. “What is it? Whatis that?”

The candle flames wavered as Leif took a huge breath and let it out in a rush.

Erik said. “Hey.Hey. Guard, what’s your name?”

Náli blinked, and turned his head, though his eyes remained milk-white, sightless. His lips quivered, and the stranger’s voice said, “I can’t – I can’t see.”

“Guard,” Erik said, more firmly. “It’s all right. My name is Erik, and I need to know yours.”

“Erik…Erik…not theking? NotKing Erik?” It was unnerving to watch someone else’s voice and nervousness coming from Náli, but Oliver couldn’t look away. He’d never seen anything like this. “Your Majesty–”

“No need for all that,” Erik cut in. “What did you see? Out in the snow? What hurt you?”

“I – I don’t–” Náli – or whoever possessed him now – breathed in quick, open-mouthed pants, chest heaving. “It wasn’t…Your Majesty, he had – he had horns! But it was a man, I swear!”

“A man, you’re sure? It wasn’t a stag?”

“No – no, it was a man. He had a man’s face, under the – under the antlers. He was – gods, he was terrible. He had no expression. I saw his eyes – they were so blue, and not natural blue, neither.”

Oliver swallowed, memory flashing with that exact, unearthly color, brighter and more vivid than any sapphire.

“He reached toward me,” not-Náli continued. “And he…” Náli’s face creased with pain. Both hands twitched, the diamond trembling on its chain, and Oliver thought it an aborted attempted to clutch at his midsection, where the wounds had been inflicted upon the dead man. “He reached for me.”

“With a sword, a knife?” Erik asked.

“No.” The white eyes closed. A trembling breath was drawn through flared nostrils. “With his hand. But it – ithurt. He had – he hadclaws.”

Erik leaned forward, knuckles white as his fingertips dug into the tabletop. “Were they real? Or did he have some sort of weapon? A glove? Rings?”

“I – I don’t – I can’tsee…” Náli let out an anguished sound and bowed his head. His pale hair fell over his shoulders, the ends trailing down to lay on the dead man’s chest. The diamond wavered, but didn’t drop – same as the bowl. Blood shivered against silver, but didn’t drip.

Silence.

Then a long, slow hiss of breath.

Náli lifted his head, opened his eyes – and they were his own again, that pale, ice blue, if a little lost and vacant, compared to his usual smirking glance. He fought to catch his breath a moment; shook his head.

“He’s gone?” Erik asked.

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