Page 83 of The Ascended
Kyren's jaw tightened. "I can run." He tested his weight on the injured foot, barely suppressing a wince. "Might not be pretty by the end, but I'll keep up."
"How did it happen?" Thatcher asked.
"Stepped in a snare during the first few minutes." Kyren shook his head. "Was so busy watching the sky for eagles, I didn't watch the ground. Wire snare—went off right at the ankle, tore through the boot leather." He gestured at his foot. "Got free, but the damage was done."
"Could've been worse," Marx observed.
"That's what I keep telling myself. Another few inches and I'd have lost the foot. Mother always said I had the merchant's luck—bad enough to find trouble, good enough to survive it."
I exchanged a look with Thatcher.He'll slow us down.
Maybe. But he's been surviving this long on one good foot.
"Show me," I said finally.
Kyren hesitated, then unwound the silk. The gash was ugly but clean—the wire had cut deep but straight. He'd packed it with leaves.
"Thornwick," he explained at my questioning look. "We used it back home to pack delicate items. Absorbs moisture, stays soft. Not medicinal, but better than nothing."
"When you can't run anymore?" Thatcher pressed. "What then?"
Kyren met his eyes steadily. "Then I make myself useful howeverI can. I'm not asking you to die for me. Just to let me help while I'm still able."
"Fine," I said. "We’ll pace ourselves to keep you functional as long as possible."
"Deal." He rewrapped his foot. "But there’s something else," he continued. "My moon-hare transformed into these amber-colored rocks."
My heart stopped. “Rocks?”
"Yeah."
With trembling hands, I reached into my pack and pulled out what remained of our hunt.
The moon-hare's corpse had vanished. In its place sat a pouch. I poured the contents into my palm.
“Resin,” I breathed.
Marx checked her pack, pulling out what had once been crystal antlers. Now only yellow crystals remained.
"Sulfur," she said, wonder coloring her voice.
"These are ingredients." My mind raced. "For Alchemical ink.”
"The eagle," Marx said suddenly. "I bet it carried mercury. We're supposed to draw sigils.”
But despair chased understanding. "The eagles are gone. They're all monsters now."
Think, Thais. There’s got to be another way out of here.
Then I remembered the moss that had sent me sprawling, how it shielded fungal networks beneath. The protective tree sap.
The three base ingredients for alchemical ink were a liquid metal base, sulfur and resin. We were supposed to use those along with the natural ingredients to draw some kind of sigil that would allow us to bypass the creatures. And we only had two.
Your weapons will not save you, but they may yet serve.
I pulled a hammer from my bag, one of many scattered through the forest after I'd arrived. Dark splotches marked its surface.
Iron.
