Page 68 of The Cradle of Ice
A hand latched on to her upper arm. She fought the grip. Then a face appeared before her. Ice-blue eyes shone bright with shock. Tight lips were hard with determination.
She stiffened with recognition. “Daal…”
“Krem!” he yelled. “Come!”
He pulled her away from the wall and into the flow of fleeing people. In his other arm, he carried Henna at his shoulder, hugging her tight. She sobbed and covered her face with her small hands. They stumbled along with the panicked crowd.
Nyx glanced over her shoulder. “What about my friends?”
Daal shook his head, looking as clueless as her. His gaze searched the skies as he ran. “Must go! They come!”
She stumbled along with him. “Who?”
Then she felt it.
A storm brewing above her. Pressure built in her ears. Energy danced across her skin. She knew that malignant touch.
A wave of dark menace swept up from the plaza and down the street. When it struck, it drowned her as surely as the flood had. It sopped through her damp clothes, burned her skin, set her blood to boiling.
Daal gave name to the threat. “Raash’ke…”
A dark shadow swept past overhead. The sharper keening struck her, drove her to her knees, addling her senses further. Her limbs grew leaden and heavy. Her breathing strangled.
No …
She tried to raise her voice against that onslaught, but her throat was salt-scoured, her lungs on fire. She could not even gather a breath.
And she was not the only one afflicted.
Ahead, people staggered or sprawled amidst the floodwater’s refuse, succumbing to the malignant bridle-song. Distant screams turned to agonized shrieks. Another shape winged diagonally above the street, sweeping low. A figure writhed in its claws before being whisked skyward, trailing a long wail behind it.
Daal pulled her up, his gaze fixed to the skies. “Need to away. Find mag’nees shelter.”
Nyx struggled to stand, to clear her thoughts. While being hauled to her feet, she managed a sharper intake of breath. She used the air to weave a weak humming melody, discordant but enough to make her skin glow. The song succeeded in casting back the worst of the bridling malaise.
She leaned on Daal, allowing him to lead her while she gathered her energy. In his arms, Henna hung slack, her form too small, too easily overwhelmed by that dread song.
Daal continued down the curve of the street, climbing through debris, around fallen bodies. They passed many homes, but through a doorway, she spotted figures sprawled inside. The stone walls offered no refuge from that dreadful song.
Then where is Daal taking us?
With no way of knowing, she concentrated on collecting herself. As she did, her song grew stronger, but it was still too weak to help others. The glow barely warmed through her wet clothes. She searched around. A few of the afflicted crawled on hands and feet, but only she and Daal were still on their feet and moving.
She frowned at Daal.
Why hasn’t he succumbed? Why is he still standing?
Then she remembered. Back on the beach, when she had first met him, she had tried to weave her golden strands into him, sensing he carried the gift of bridle-song. She pictured those threads evaporating when they neared his skin, as if innately resisting her.
If I couldn’t reach him, maybe the raash’ke can’t either.
Before she could ponder it further, Daal drew her aside. “Ree mag’nees fare.”
He led her to a low archway. Beyond it, sandy steps led down to a stone-roofed chamber packed with people huddled shoulder to shoulder. Others fought to get deeper inside, only to be rebuffed by a lone guardsman armed with a spear. Angry shouts echoed out, supporting their warden’s stance. It was likely already crushingly tight in there.
Nyx didn’t know what was so special about this refuge, but it was clearly important. Those inside had not fallen victim to the bridling menace.
Daal’s feet faltered at the sight of the struggle.
