White Stag (Permafrost #1)(38)
The bodies around me fluttered away like ashes in the wind, until the barren field was empty. Standing before me was a white-furred stag—the stag—its hooves raking across the once-fertile ground.
A deep, burning rage came from the pit of my stomach and rooted me to the earth. “It’s dead!” I screamed. “It’s dead. Everything is dead, and it’s not growing back! And it’s your fault. You let this happen!”
The stag snorted and threw his head back, his antlers catching the beams of the sun like crystals. The light broke across the ruined ground in a pattern of rainbows.
“Don’t you understand, you stupid animal?” I screamed. “This isn’t supposed to be a beautiful place! It’s a place where people died! It’s the place that changed everything.”
The stag came forward until his warm breath tickled my face. I stared at him coldly. “What do you want from me? I can’t do anything for you.”
The animal looked up at me with wise dark eyes and blinked slowly, ashes catching on his white lashes. He pawed at the ground once more, and the land beneath him turned white as snow. The sweet smell of spring filled the air, and flashes of the village as it’d once been caught my eye before disappearing like the wind. He pressed his nose into my shoulder, and the ancient power flowing within him crashed down on me like an avalanche. The smells of spring and growth mixed with winter and blood; the dead and the living twining together, trees that reached up to the sky and roots that sank deep into the earth. The land slid from beneath my feet as I found myself staring at a massive ash tree. The stag backed away from me and bounded into the distance as I watched him go.
PART TWO
THE HUNTRESS
9
PANIC
THE DREAM FROM last night still haunted me as we trudged along the trail of the stag. The parched air of the Fire Bog soon turned into the cool, sharp air of the mountains. Ice glittered in the sunlight, hanging off trees, growing on rocks, and even shooting up straight from the ground. The only sound was the wind whistling between the mountain passes. No one said it out loud, but we all had the same thing in mind. With the stag’s trail so thick before us, it would only be a matter of time before we ran into another hunting party. One that was alive.
My mouth tasted like ash. The dream was so real; almost as if my family was trying to remind me who I was and warn me about what I would become. But the stag’s appearance only made Soren’s words the other night replay over and over in my head. Shame ate at my insides as I remembered waking up with my head pressed against Soren’s chest. Even after the terrifying dream, his presence lulled me into a sense of safety. And that can’t happen. I can’t get attached. I’ve spent too long fighting to accept it now. But I hadn’t left when given the chance either.
I closed my eyes, allowing Panic to steer me. The horse was smart enough not to get caught in a trap.
“You shouldn’t think about it so much.” My shoulders tensed at the sound of Soren’s voice.
“How do you always know what I’m thinking about?”
His lips quirked. “You get this look on your face whenever you’re worrying over something. It’s almost too hard not to notice. Also, because I know how you work. You really need to loosen up.”
“Loosen up?” Acid dripped from my tone. “I am loosened up.”
All he did was raise an eyebrow.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I rolled my eyes. “Look, I just don’t want to talk to you right now.”
Soren shook his head, his long, unbound white hair rippling like a wave. “It’s a tough thing to realize, isn’t it? I don’t envy you.”
“I haven’t realized anything.” I wish I believed those words as strongly as I said them. But roots had begun to dig deep into this world, into Soren, and I wasn’t sure that severing them was worth the pain. I peered at Soren again. His hair was whiter than the pristine snow coating the ground, brushing skin so pale it was almost translucent with a blue-gray tinge, and even his thick hunting furs did nothing to hide the strong build of his body. His long, delicate fingers clutched at his horse’s reins, easily navigating the treacherous mountain path. There was a sharpness in his purple eyes as he gazed up into the sky. That body shielded me from the cold, those hands kept me from hurting myself, those eyes burned with fury at the sight of me in danger. Something strange stirred in my chest, and I turned away.
“You know what the best thing about being a goblin is?” Soren asked. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Not being able to create due to the power the Permafrost gives us isn’t the only restriction. You can’t lie either. You’ll hear it, like a ringing in your ears.”
“How is that a good thing?” I asked, thankful there was at least a change of topic.
“It’s not just others,” he said. “You can’t lie to yourself either.”
“I’m not lying to myself about anything.”
He gave me a soft, sad look. “Liar.”
I turned my body away from him. Hunger gnawed my insides, and I thought back to the last time I’d had any real food and wished that I’d eaten some of the rabbit when I had had the chance. In the Erlking’s palace I had drunk a goblet of nectar, but that wouldn’t keep me going forever, and the effects were wearing off rapidly after the race through the Fire Bog. I needed real food and I needed it soon. Permafrost or not, I needed to eat like every other being. I eyed the saddlebag on Soren’s horse. It was soaked red with blood from the fox they’d caught earlier. The goblins ripped into the animal raw and were carrying the still-edible remains.