The thought iced her more than the weather.
There was no way to tell either way, but she pilfered some gloves and a piece of fur from her unwitting hosts to guard against the cold, leaving a coin in return. She ate a meagre breakfast, stroked the cat, enjoyed what was left of the little warmth she’d likely experience for the next few days, and resumed her journey on high alert.
The incident yesterday with the banshee and the barghests had unsettled her, still scratching beneath her skin. When she’d finally fallen back asleep, the clothes kept bubbling up again, stained with blood, sometimes with people inside them.
They aren’t dead yet,she reminded herself.You can still save them. You can still save everyone.
She couldn’t remember much about banshees from her school books, if the predictions were absolute or avoidable, and, in any case, she didn’tknowwho the clothes belonged to. Could have been anyone.
The worst thing about walking, especially through decent terrain, was that there was nothing to distract herself with. Her mind could not choose but to wander. It was so hard to stay focused that several times she took a slightly harder path just to give her something to concentrate on.
It was almost a relief, when, not long after midday, she reached a river.
She hovered at the edge and looked both up and down, searching for a crossing or a shallower spot. The river wasn’t too deep, or too treacherous. She could wade across, but it would mean getting wet or undressing, neither great options on a cold day like today. It was more than just discomfort; she could be risking her life if the chill set into her bones. Even just getting a cold would hamper her ability to journey and defend herself.
She walked a little further downstream, finding a spot dotted with stepping stones, where the gap was short enough for her to throw most of her equipment to the other side; she didn’t want to risk losing her balance or damaging any of her supplies if she did fall in.
She kept her sword on, though. Habit. If anything, it helped her balance better.
She leapt onto the first stone, a wide, flat thing, barely slippery at all.
The second was harder, her boots hitting water. She almost lost her footing there.
One more stone, just one more and then the bank.
Her pack seemed to wink at her from the other side, urging her on.
Not far now.
She hit the third stone, one heel treading air. Something gurgled at her ankles.
Juliana paused just a second too long, staring into the river.
Something green moved through the water, slippery and scaled as a fish. For a brief, hopeful second, Juliana convinced herself that’s all it was. Just a large fish. Nothing more—
A long, wiry arm reached out and fastened itself to her ankle, another sloppy body launching onto the rock and sinking its teeth into her boot. The weight threw her off. She slammed against the water, claws grabbing at her flesh.
Grindylows.
One on its own wouldn’t be a problem. They were small, spindly things, but two of them, in the water where they had the advantage—
And there were bound to be more. Grindylows hunted in packs.
She kicked one, the other latching onto her sheath, pulling her down. She tried to claw her way to the surface, snatching fistfuls of air before water shot into her mouth again. Weighted blackness dragged her down, teeth pierced her skin—
She couldn’t get free.
Acting on instinct, she unbuckled her belt, the weight falling away from her. The grindylows dived after it, giving her time to scramble towards the bank and haul herself upwards, coughing and hacking on the cold, sodden ground.
She only realised what she’d lost when she had a second to breathe.
Briarsong. They had Briarsong.
Shescurriedback to the water’s edge, hoping they’d give up when they realised their prize wasn’t made of flesh, but the two snatched and clawed at the blade, fighting over it like a couple of feral dogs. One slashed the other across the face and chomped down the sheath, sliding away downstream.
No, no, not Briarsong!
Juliana flung on her quiver and grabbed her bow before she could even think. She still had a dagger strapped to her thigh, but reason should have told her that arrows and single short blade would be of little use against a pack of grindylows.
