I don’t see them, but I can feel their eyes watching me, assessing me, hunting me.
When the forest suddenly stops, I almost weep in relief.
I linger in the tree line, peering at the land before me, getting my first glimpse of the Dead Lands. What I see has me equally shocked and wanting to flee in terror, yet something inside of me unfurls at the rugged, uncluttered scenery before me. The darkness calls to a darkness within me I didn’t even realize I had until today.
Before me is marshland. Boggy grass and mud stretch as far as I can see, the water a deep black. The grass is dying and brittle, almost obscured by a foggy mist that spreads across it as if it’s an ever present feature of the marsh. Swallowing, I look to the horizon, where I spot huge, jagged mountains. The dark sky obscures the true height of them, but I can see their silhouette like a threat stretching into the sky.
That’s where I will go. There is no other feature on the horizon I can use to pinpoint locations, and it’s better than nothing. There might be a cave there, or even some kind of shade for me to hide in
Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension, I take the first step out of the trees and into the wide-open expanse of the marshland. My feet sink deep, and I have to drag my feet up and out, stepping quickly to avoid sinking. All the while, my eyes dart from my path to the exposed area around me. I am careful not to fall into any water, but I also try to watch my back and sides in case I’m attacked.
My spine stiffens, my neck prickles with awareness, and the hair on my arms rises in response. The deeper I step into the fog, the more my panic seems to grow, and then I hear a musical laugh.
Spinning, I peer into the fog that seems to have swelled to obscure my tracks and what’s behind me, but I manage to spy the edge of the trees through the shroud. There, I spot a clawed hand gripping the bark of a tree like a symbol of doom. When the laugh comes again, those claws slash at the wood, leaving behind deep grooves before disappearing back into the darkness.
Okay then.
“Let’s hope they don’t like water,” I mutter as I turn back and hasten my steps. The more I walk, the deeper I seem to be sinking, and at one point, I’m up to my knees. The mud slows my steps until I’m dragging myself forward with my hands and feet. Mud covers my cheeks, where I wipe my face. My legs and hands are heavy with the sludge, making me feel as if each step adds more weight. I claw at it, gritting my teeth as things wiggle inside of the black slop, but I’m determined to keep going. Every now and again, my eyes drift to the horizon and lock on the mountains to ensure I’m still heading in the same direction.
Sweat beads on my head and neck, trickling down my spine. My energy drains, and I’m exhausted after what feels like hours have passed, but when I look back, I’ve hardly made any progress at all. Great. The monsters might not have to kill me, because the marsh will do it for them.
Shaking my head of the despair that seems to fill me, I force myself to keep moving. To keep my spirits up, I start to sing softly to myself. I cycle through old nursery rhymes and songs of my people, and with each one, I urge myself forward, faster and faster, even as the sky seems to darken further.
Just when I’m about to give up hope and collapse in exhaustion, the mist lifts, allowing me to clearly see for the first time. The rapidly darkening sky makes it hard to see far, but when I squint, I can just make out a structure not too far off.
At the sight of it, hope and adrenaline course through me, and I practically run, despite the mud still caking my body. I push myself faster, desperation filling me. After I slide to a stop before it, however, all that hope comes crashing down.
I should have known nothing whole exists here, nothing that’s not destroyed.
The stone structure of what was once a house is leaning to the left with a hole through one side, which I slip through, and most of the roof is missing, so hardly enough cover is left behind. The floor is now nothing but mud as rain suddenly begins to pour down through the gaping holes, cascading inside like waterfalls.
It’s just one room with a single door to the right, but there is a triangle of roof left over the old house. Hurrying toward it so I can get out of the freezing cold downpour, I huddle under that area. The floor is dry if not hard and stony, but I have a wall to my left and right as I move into the corner, hiding in the darkness. I wrap my arms around myself as the temperature seems to drop just as rapidly as the rain came, leaving me shivering and wishing for even the threadbare blanket of home. Burying my head into my knees so just my eyes remain uncovered, I curl up and watch the rain bounce on the floor.
The storm lasts for at least two hours, but just as suddenly as it came, it stops, leaving me freezing, wet, muddy, and peering into the almost complete darkness. I know there’s no point in heading back outside. I won’t be able to see anything or anyone coming for me. The monsters could walk right in front of me, and I wouldn’t see them.
So it looks like I’m spending the night here. Sighing, I push back my hair and rub my hands together before blowing into them to retain some heat. I can’t feel my toes, legs, or arms, and I know I need to find heat soon or I’ll die. Luckily, when I was young, I used to play with one of the boys whose father was a hunter. He taught him all the tricks to survive in the wild, hoping his son would someday become like him. The friendship ended when he realized he was supposed to hate women and not be friends with them, but the lessons remained.
Finding two dry rocks, I collect as much debris and wood as I can, and in the shadows under the roof, I make a little pile. Striking the rocks together, I manage to light it after a couple of desperate tries. I blow on the tiny flame and fan until it grows. The flames pierce the darkness, making me wince until my eyes adjust, but the heat? I almost cry as I move as close as I dare, wiggling my feet and hands before it, trying to get feeling back into my limbs.
When I’m warmer, I lay out my shoes, which I had taken off to survive the bog, to dry before cleaning the cut on my foot and rebinding it as tightly as I dare. Only then do I settle down to eat. I nibble, knowing I need to ration what little I have, since I don’t know when I will find anything edible here. After I’ve eaten, I move out from under the shelter, cupping my hands in the puddles to wash my hands, face, and legs, watching the mud run down them as the moon pierces through the building. Once I’m feeling a little cleaner, I move to a different puddle, one not churned up by my movements, and drink as much as I dare. I know it might make me sick, but I can’t survive without water.
I stretch my arms and legs and wander around the room, searching for anything useful. There’s old, cracked furniture that might work for kindling in what seems to be a small kitchen in the back corner, and while searching through cupboards, I find an ancient, smelly waterskin. Crinkling my nose, I hurry to wash it at least three times. It still smells, but it should be clean enough to use. Filling it, I drink more before topping it up and melting back into my corner. I huddle before the fire and fight the exhaustion settling in my body now that I have shelter, heat, and water.
I need to stay awake in case the monsters find me. I know I’m too close to the wall to take in my surroundings, but when my eyes slide closed, burning from exhaustion, there is no fighting it anymore.
I fall into a deep, dark sleep filled with reaching claws and howling creatures.
* * *
Something is nudgingme to wake, my consciousness flaring as my mind screams at me. Then it comes again—a scream. It’s close. Jerking upright, I look around. The fog has rolled back in, wrapping around me like a chokehold. The fire is still magically burning, and that screaming howl is closer now. Crawling as quickly as I can toward the fire, I cover it in dirt, extinguishing the flame before holding my breath, and then I wait. My fear only grows as more howls sound around me, as if they are circling me, until they slowly fade.
Blowing out a breath, I settle back into the corner, curling into myself to retain my heat. Leaning my head on the cold wall, I try to fall back asleep, knowing it’s useless to fight it. I need to be well rested to survive what is to come when the sun rises—if it ever does here.
I’m between wakefulness and sleep, where nothing quite seems real, when I feel a hand stroke over my foot. I freeze, awareness slowly filling my body, and that’s when I smell something sweet, musky, and definitely other. It’s like ale and darkness. All I can do is smell it, and then that hand comes back, stroking along my skin.
For a moment, I want to keep my eyes squeezed shut, as if that will save me, but I know it won’t, so I force them open. When I come face-to-face with a monster, I scream.
It—no,heis crouched before me, his head tilted to the side. His bright red, almond-shaped eyes are locked on me. His skin has a bluish tint to it, with a darker area around his lips, which are almost midnight. His eyebrows are raised, and his claws hover above my leg. We just stare at each other as I seal my lips together in terror, unsure what to do.
