White Stag (Permafrost #1)(44)

“I can’t!” the other voice shouted, its words echoing across the walls, surrounding me.

Bones and scales crunched under my feet as I wove through the small passages. The walls shone like oil spots, a dark rainbow against the shining moss. A human skeleton was on its knees with hands outreached. I shuddered as I passed by. It looked like it was begging for mercy.

“Don’t complain then if you don’t feel right. It’s your own fault.”

I kept an arrow notched, but there was no one to shoot at. The voices came from everywhere and nowhere, carried by the cold tunnel winds.

“You know the thing they say about goblins, right?” the voice asked. “We can’t lie to ourselves.”

A growl shut out the voices and resonated deep within my bones. I clutched my bow, keeping the arrow aimed at wherever the sound appeared next. There was a lump in my throat, and it was growing bigger by the minute. Unsteady hands shook the bow, making it impossible to aim.

A shadow stood before me, long, lean, and goblin-like. Faceless and nameless, it was a stranger, but I couldn’t shake the growing feeling that I knew it. It came forward toward me as if it could hear the sound of my heart racing. My blood froze as I aimed at the creature, the arrow shaking against the bowstring. Cornered, trapped, and with nowhere to hide, sweat dripped down my face and my eyes darted around wildly.

The shadow reached out to my cheek with long, delicate fingers dripping with darkness and blood. I closed my eyes at the faint feeling of a hand brushing against my cheek.

“Maybe,” the voice agreed with the first. “But I can try.”

With a hiss, the shadow-creature vanished, spluttering out in short, staccato bursts.

I stood there too stunned to move as the fear dwindled until all that was left was the hard lump in my throat. These are just mind games. Svartelves were known for playing with people’s minds, driving them mad with their tricks and visions.

You seek knowledge. The phantom voice spoke in my head, and I shivered at the intrusion, my body going cold all the way to the core. Choose wisely. The sound of a child at play floated from behind me, and the shadows swirled and merged together until they covered the dark passages of the cavern and exploded into light.

I stood, staring into the distance. The harsh light burned, and I held a hand up to shield my vision. It was brighter than fire, brighter than the sun glinting off the snow, and the light called to me. The soft, motherly voice spoke my name as I drew closer, and wind whirled around me as I stepped into the light.

There was no more darkness, no more dripping of red water onto stones, no more shadows flitting around, or voices muttering cryptic warnings. The field of wheat shimmered in the wind like an ocean of amber, and the smell of warmth and springtime brought long-buried memories back from the dead.

And the sun, oh the sun. It hung in the sky unmuted, sending rays of warmth down onto me. I tilted back my head, soaking up every last drop.

“I knew you’d never change.”

My arrow was ready to go before I even turned, but the man in front of me smiled as he waited until I was over my shock. I stared, unable to believe my eyes. Crow’s feet webbed around the man’s brown eyes, and his shaggy hair was the color of night and was wound in curls so much like my own. His bushy beard was a few shades darker than the rest of him. Like me, his dark, tawny skin blended in with the amber field.

Unable to take my eyes off the man before me, I drank in his features. Whoever this was, whatever this was, it was in the form of my father. The man who raised me, trusted me, and made me his heir. The man I failed. I choked back my tears.

“When you were born,” he said, “it was the happiest day of my life. Not just that you survived, but that I finally had a child who was like me, and who was an heir. It was such a little thing, but out of all my children, it was you who was closest to my heart.”

“Father,” I whispered. “Is it really you?”

The man smiled at me. “You’ve been so brave. My beautiful child, my lastborn.”

Weapons forgotten on the ground, I raced into his arms. This was my father. My father. Whether he was an illusion or flesh and blood, I didn’t fight his embrace. The scent of wood musk and smoke came off him just like it had when he was alive. I breathed deeply, hoping the scent would still linger with me when he disappeared.

A hand touched my face. “I knew you’d never change. You always loved the sunlight on your face.”

I looked up at him, afraid to see disappointment in his eyes. I had changed. He must know that. He’d lived for seventeen years with the burden that his child would be as good as goblin-born one day. He knew everything.

“There’s sun in the Permafrost, but not like this. It’s not warm. I missed the human sun,” I said. “I missed you too.”

There was a long, quiet moment. My father rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly, before he spoke again. “There is a way to return.” His breath tickled my ear. “If you would have it.”

My heart leapt in my throat. “What? How? What can I do?”

He smiled, the crow’s feet by his eyes crinkling. “I knew you would want to return.” He let go and dug his hand in the satchel hanging on his waist. Resting in his palm was a tiny iron knife.

I took a step back. “What … what are you doing?”

“Don’t you want to be with us? With your family? After a hundred years among them, don’t you miss us?” I flinched at the coldness in his words.