The Darkling Tide (3 page)

“You’re right,” Rorick said. “We were told we’d be safe if we stayed on the trail.”

Daphne had stopped some ways ahead of them, and was fluttering around, as if waiting for them. Occasionally she would let off a puff of purple wyrd toward the warding of the trail, and the shadow birds in the trees would hop back, cawing at the pixie.

Abagail didn’t mention the fog that was starting to pick up on the farther end of the trail. She wasn’t sure if the others could see it, or if they paid it any attention. Leona was to her right, and Rorick to her left, both of them searching the sides of the trail as if they might find another rift within the fabric of the ward.

They were soon knee deep in the fog and Abagail’s right hand throbbed a dull ache through her arm. She pulled the afflicted hand to her chest, and tightened it into a ball. For some reason, when she had the hand clenched in a fist, the ache in her wrist abated. Maybe she was showing her resolve in closing herself off from the darkling wyrd within her.

Helvegr
. The word came again, and Abagail hesitated. She glanced from Leona to Rorick to see if they’d heard it, but she couldn’t tell. Their faces were an unreadable mask.

Before long the fog was blotting out the meager bit of sunlight that filtered through the canopy above them, and they were plunged into near twilight.

“Soon we won’t be able to see the edge of Singer’s Trail,” Leona noted.

“Just keep walking,” Abagail told her. “We will be careful. As long as there is road beneath us, we should be fine.”

“Should is the part of that sentence that worries me,” Rorick said, slowing his pace and reaching for the hammer at his waist.

“Yea,” Leona shivered.

Soon the trees around them were changing. No longer were they the browns and greens that Abagail was used to, but through the veil of fog they shown red, scarlet almost. She fluttered her eyes trying to clear the image, but it didn’t go away.

In the distance a howl arose from the forest.

“Can wolves make it on to the trail?” Leona asked.

“As long as they aren’t darkling I don’t see why not,” Rorick said. His gaze drifted in the direction the howl came from, but then turned back to the darklings closer at hand.

“Where’s Daphne?” Abagail asked, her voice sounding distant to her ears as if something other than the fog was muffling the noise.

“Right there,” Rorick said after a moment of searching. He pointed ahead of them, and Abagail could just make out the soft purple light of the pixie.

“We should stop,” Leona said. “I can’t see far ahead of us at all.”

“I feel like as long as we are in this forest we are in trouble,” Rorick countered. “I think the best thing for us to do would be to continue on.”

“Abagail?” Leona asked.

“I think Rorick is right,” she heard herself say, though she couldn’t really remember thinking the words that were coming from her lips. “I think something is compromising the safety of Singer’s Trail and it might not be as secure as Celeste thought it was.”

Leona nodded.

“As long as Daphne is ahead of us, we should be fine.” The howl punctuated the end of Abagail’s sentence, and as it did her wrist throbbed.

Now there was no denying it, the trees and the leaves above them, those that Abagail could see, were blood red. It was the strangest thing she’d ever witnessed, harrowing and beautiful all at the same time. She let her gaze linger on the edge of the road to see if the color extended that far. Sure enough, under the slight drifts of snow the underbrush and even the grass was the color of spilled blood.

The howl sounded again, this time much closer than seemed possible.

“Noise can travel differently given the fog and the density of the woods,” Rorick said. His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on his hammer.

Abagail nodded anyway.

The fog before them began to eddy and swirl. It parted like a curtain and ahead lay a forest path more lovely than anything Abagail had ever seen before. The fog retreated behind the first few rows of red trees. The path was strewn with leaves in shades of red more numerous than Abagail had names for colors.

The trunks of trees looked more like stone than wood, and the leaves above were as if painted.

Her head swam and the howl came once more, longing, calling out to her blood. Through the intoxicating pull she could barely feel the thrum of pain it conjured in her afflicted hand.

Abagail stepped forth, leaving Rorick and Leona staring at the splendid forest before them.

There was no sign of Daphne.

To the right, in slow deliberate motion, a snowy white wolf trotted to the edge of the trail. Around its paws the red leaves stirred, scattering here and there noiselessly. A few leaves swirled on to the trail.

Abagail neared the wolf, drawn to him by some power she couldn’t name. Her heart beat in her throat; her breath shallow, ragged.

It was a tall wolf, bigger than any she’d ever seen before. Abagail stood tall and was able to stare straight into his aqua eyes. There was an intelligence there that seemed almost human. It studied her as if it could read her thoughts. Maybe it could.

The wolf stopped beneath a branch heavy with darkling birds, and tilted his face up to them. The birds bent low, their caws twittering away to silence.

Abagail couldn’t help feel the presence of the wolf, the overpowering wyrd that came with him. It was power she hadn’t felt since seeing the light of the Waking Eye through the strange window in her father’s study.

The wolf turned back to her, his alien eyes taking her in. He stepped forward, closer to the warding. His breath fogged on the shield as if it were cold glass. His nose was so close to the edge that Abagail thought it might actually
be
in the trail.

But he wasn’t.

Abagail clutched her afflicted hand tighter to her chest, trying to ease the pain, and sank to her knees before the wolf.

He was cast in shadows, his form nearly that of a ghost. From his neck dangled a length of gossamer thread like rainbowed light. The pull of his power called to her hand, and the shadow plague within her responded.

Her hand lurched away from her chest, pulled to the wolf, drawing away from her body against her will. She gasped at the cold power that the wolf seemed to infuse her body with. His gaze sent a frigid shiver through her body.

In the distance, she heard a voice; someone calling her name. But it was distant, far away from her. She needed to reach the gossamer thread, she needed to free this wolf from the thread. She was his only hope, she knew that.

Abbie!
The voice was familiar to her, but it didn’t matter. There was the wolf, and the need within him.

Rough hands jerked her away from the warding, and she fell backwards into a pile of red leaves. They swirled up around her, rustling loudly, bringing her crashing back to reality, to the pain in her hand and to the light of Daphne as the pixie settled on her chest.

Leona was standing over her, yelling at her, but she couldn’t hear her sister. All that she could see was the diminutive face of Daphne, so close to hers. The pixie’s eyes were concerned, her violet skin nearly quivering with power.

Abagail’s mind went back to the wolf. She’d seen him before in her father’s painting. She didn’t know who he was, or why he was after her, only that in the painting he’d been bound to the Tree at Eget Row by the same gossamer thread she’d been so willing to free him from just now.

Daphne reached down to her and laid a cold hand on Abagail’s forehead. All thoughts of the wolf and darklings raced from her mind. Daphne’s wyrd raced through Abagail’s body, and her tense muscles seemed to melt into the ground.

She closed her eyes and just let the sensation sweep over her. In time, what her sister was saying came through the cloud in her ears.

“What on
O
were you thinking, Abbie!?” Leona finished.

“Leo, please, shut up,” Abagail breathed.

“Leo, let her rest,” Rorick said, his voice quiet. Abagail heard a rustle beside her and she knew that Rorick was sitting down. He waited a while before speaking again.

“What did you see?” he asked.

Abagail didn’t open her eyes, just focused on the cool hand of Daphne, pressing on her forehead. She told him what she’d seen, how the wolf had aqua blue eyes, and how it was all white with streaks of silver and grey.

“There are wolves alright,” he said. “But they aren’t anything as splendid as that.”

Abagail sat up, Daphne startled higher up into the air. Sure enough, the forest was teeming with wolves, but they weren’t white, they were darklings.

Before them were so many darkling wolves that the foggy day seemed plague by a bank of nighttime. They yipped and howled, raising their malignant music to the crowing birds above.

“And I was reaching for them?” Abagail asked. She was trying to ignore the wolves, but she was having such a hard time with it. Celeste said if she ignored them then she wouldn’t be tempted by them. She’d been ignoring them, so why had she gotten so ensnared by that vision of the wolf?

Is he a more powerful darkling?
She wondered.

“It looked like you were trying to bring down the ward,” Leona told her. She still hadn’t settled down, and was pacing back and forth before Abagail and Rorick, her eyes plastered on the darkling wolves.

Rorick frowned. “I can’t say that it looked like you were trying to bring down the ward, but there was something happening.”

Abagail checked the work glove over her hand. She’d started wearing it because her afflicted hand seemed to take over at times, and she was also afraid if she accidentally touched someone with her plagued hand that the darkness would spread to them.

“Did the glove come off?” she asked Rorick. Whenever something strange happened with her hand, something she didn’t precisely
want
to happen, like the darkling wyrd taking over and vanquishing their enemies, the glove seemed to slip off without her urging.

“No,” Rorick shook his head.

Abagail sighed with relief. She checked her arm. The spider web veins of the shadow plague hadn’t moved any since she’d last checked them, so it didn’t seem like she’d worked any kind of wyrd.

“But the ward did seem to react to your presence,” Rorick said, his eyes following Leona as if he didn’t want to tell Abagail this part.

“What do you mean?” Abagail glanced up at Rorick.

“It glowed a little, and when you reached for it, the ward began to shimmer, ripple almost like it was being stressed.” He frowned. “I can’t really explain it.”

Abagail furrowed her eyebrows. “What do we do about those?” she asked, indicating the darkling wolves.

“There isn’t much we
can
do, is there?” Leona asked, turning back to them. Daphne settled on her shoulder.

“No,” Abagail said, pushing to her feet. “I guess you’re right.”

“What are we going to do about
you
?” Leona asked, troubled.

Abagail was taken aback. She wanted to say something snide to her sister, she wanted to rebuke the fear and the accusation she saw in her eyes, but Leona was right. It seemed Abagail was just as much a threat to them as the darklings just off the trail. Furthermore, she couldn’t control the darkling wyrd within her when it really wanted to come out.

She looked to Rorick and the hammer that hung at his side. She remembered the pact they made. If the shadow plague took her over, Rorick had agreed to be the one to kill her, to be the one who ended her life so that her father or her sister didn’t have to. He had almost done that already, and she knew he was good for his word.

Darklings killed his family,
she thought.
He refuses to let darklings destroy mine.

“I don’t know,” Abagail answered truthfully. “There may come a time when you have to tie me up, or something. I really can’t tell. The most important thing is that we reach this school or whatever of harbingers. They will know what to do. If you have to knock me out and drag me there, then that’s what we will have to do.”

Leona smiled at that, and Abagail laughed at the image of them hauling her body through the forest. She was simply too well muscled to make that an easy task.