Page 60 of The Huntsman's Heart
Tentatively, I close my eyes, trusting Tharrok to warn me if anything approaches. I reach for her the way I would reach for a lifeless vessel, not certain if it will work. I expect to meetresistance. After all, this vessel still houses a spirit. What I find instead is a body almost empty, as if her essence has been poured out—spun into fine thread and drawn out to cover too great a distance.
Curious, I follow the thread. In this state I can see it trailing out behind us like it has been woven from silver, all the way back through the woods to Thornvale.
Her thread trails over the high walls too frail to be weighed down. It wafts over the walls and unravels into hundreds of tiny strands. They’re too thin to see unless I turn my head and the light catches one a certain way. My spirit floats above the walls as I stare at the web of strands stretching out across the town.
Then I see them.
A cat with its head bent at a strange angle; a half-eaten sparrow trailing a skeletal wing along the ground behind it; a goat with its entire skull exposed, rotting where it limps around in circles. They move aimlessly, drifting here and there, but none of them should be moving at all. None of them could stir a single muscle on their own, because they’re all dead.
Vision shattered, I blink open my eyes and stare at the woman in my arms. How many has she taken?
It is too many even for someone who has practiced as many times as I have, and she has projected perhaps two or three times. She should have picked a single vessel, not dozens, not hundreds. How will she possibly gather herself together to find her way back to the body she belongs to?
“You have to let them go.” I shake her again, but it does nothing. I don’t know how much longer she can last without flying away in the breeze.
Frightened, I spur Tharrok into a canter, ducking low over his back and holding the princess against my chest. The sooner we make it to the castle ruins the better. This cannot wait.
She must wake now.
Tharrok tires long before I can accept that he has, but eventually I ease him into a walk. He’s breathing hard, sweating from the work I’ve put him through, and we’re still miles off from the castle. Poor beast. He’s carrying both of us.
I carefully slide from the saddle, pulling Guin into my arms and whistling for him to follow. Then I break into a jog, holding the princess as carefully as I can. The threads stretch thinner with every step I take, but I can’t think about that. Hesitating will only cost me time—costhertime she does not have. I must take the risk to save her.
I can make out the crumbling walls in the distance by the time I hear the soft whomp of wing beats overhead. A moment later, the tall angelic gargoyle lands in front of me, a grim look on his face.
I ignore it. All that matters is what must be done. “Quick, there’s not much time. Get the others.”
His frown deepens. His hand is on his weapon. “What have you done?”
I would scoff at the threat, but I’m too focused on the princess. “You mean what hasshedone? She has taken on more than she could handle. Be quick, I said. Get the others. This cannot wait.”
He opens his mouth then closes it again, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll get them.” He opens his wings wide and leaps into the sky again, speeding back toward the castle. I continue on, ignoring the anxious knot in my belly. I’d pray everything would be alright, but I’ve long since given up on prayers that fall on deaf ears.
The gods have left us to fend for ourselves.
When I see three figures flying back a few minutes later, I let out my first sigh of relief. Regardless of how suspicious of me they are, or how much explaining I have to do, they’ve come. Right now that’s all that matters.
The dark-haired sphynx lands heavily in front of me and pushes my shoulder roughly. “What did you do?”
It’s lucky I have a good hold on the princess. I glare at him. “You can interrogate me later. Right now she needs you. All of you.”
The fair-haired sphynx pushes his twin aside and steps close to place a tender hand on her forehead. “What should we do? What does she need?”
Finally, a creature who knows how to take direction. “You must call her back to herself. She will not answer me. Her spirit may have traveled too far from her body, been split into too many strands, but you have to try.”
His attention turns immediately to the princess again, and he cups her face in his hands, bending close. “Princess, can you hear me?”
She’s stiff and unresponsive in my arms.
Gently, I bend and lay her on the grass, releasing the leather strap binding her to me. I refuse to step back, though, so the gargoyles are forced to crowd close to be near her.
“Princess, come back to us.” They lay their hands on her body and her eyelids flutter.
“Keep going. Tell her to let go.”
They call her again, and this time her brows knit together. Placing my own hands on her body over the scar I made on her chest, I wonder if I should tear it open again, grasp her heart and command her to return to herself, but I can’t bring myself to.
The princess would rather lose herself than be commanded. I won’t be the one to do it.
