Page 72 of Storm of Shadows

The howling wind rustles through the sparse leaves decorating the thick canopy of branches. I muttercalidaagain and press my hands to my chest. Renewed warmth spreads through me.

Juron and Caya soon leave our sight, though I hear their footsteps in the distance. Natharius wears a bored expression, as if he’s disappointed none of us are dying yet.

“How many times have you been here?” I ask to relieve the silence.

“Once,” he replies. “A few hundred years ago.”

“And are the Ghost Woods as you remember?”

“It is mostly unchanged. However, I feel a shift in the atmosphere.”

“A shift?”

“Last I was here, the trees were more abundant with darkness. It is as though the shadows have lessened.”

“Lessened?”

“Indeed.”

I stare at the gnarled trees. How could these suffocating shadows possibly be any worse? They already feel as if they could choke the life from me. “How did this place become so filled with dark magic?”

“Long ago, the Lich Lord made this area his foothold in Talidor when he sought dominion over the world. He and his armies of undead tainted these woods with their blight. Over time, the shadows fed on the aether living inside the plants and creatures here, corrupting it into more dark magic.”

Natharius’s explanation only makes me feel worse about this place. Now I’m even less sure camping here for the night is a good idea, even if my legs are exhausted.

I close my eyes and try meditating like Taria does, drawing on the little aether I can find in the air. But concentrating is difficult when I feel the creeping sensation of being watched—and not by the Void Prince.

Caya is the first to return. I open my eyes at the sound of her footsteps approaching, and Zephyr jolts up, only settling down once she comes into view. Her arms are full of dried wood, plenty to build a small campfire. We won’t need Juron’s share with how much she has.

She glances across at us. “Juron hasn’t returned?”

Since Taria is deep in meditation and Natharius is, well Natharius, I’m left to answer her. “No,” I reply. “The last time I saw him, he was disappearing into the trees with you.”

“Hm, strange,” Caya says, dumping her firewood in a pile at the center of the glade. “One minute he was behind me, and the next he was gone.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I reply. “Maybe he noticed a rabbit or deer and is busy stalking it through the trees?” I certainly hope he is. Though it’s only been three days since I ate a fresh meal in Esterra City, my stomach rumbles at the prospect of warm food.

To my dismay, Caya scoffs. “More like he’s having a piss somewhere.”

“Actually,” Natharius says, “he’s probably dead by now.”

“Don’t say such things,” she snarls. “My brother is more than capable of handling himself.”

“Maybe,” Natharius replies with a shrug, “but this forest is also very good at handling itself. Can you not feel the shadows around us? Though it has depleted over the centuries, this place was once as abundant with dark magic as the Abyss itself.”

Caya swallows at his words, any rebuke dying in her throat.

“That’s enough, Natharius,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

The demon only arches a brow in response.

We wait a while longer, minutes turning into several dozen. The tension in Caya’s shoulders tightens. I don’t blame her. Juron should have long returned by now, and his current whereabouts is also concerning me.

Finally, when Caya can’t bear waiting any longer, she leaps to her feet and strides across the glade, passing Natharius and me. “I’m going to look for him,” she says, her mouth set into a firm line of determination. “My brother’s sense of direction is horrific at the best of times. I’d better find him before he gets himself any more lost.” With that, she starts toward the trees.

“Are you sure—” I begin, but my words are cut off by Natharius.

“Watch out for the ghouls and ghosts,” he calls after Caya.

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