Briar lifted above the trees. She gripped the layers of soft black plumage around his neck to stabilize herself, also taking in some of his warmth as the snow pounded against her skin, now ghost white except for the ruddiness of her ice-kissed nose. The deadwoods faded beneath them, and the lights of Bahelin Forge grew brighter. They were not only brighter, but closer.
Closer than they should have been.
The storm intensified. Her ride grew weak, shivering. Was it the cold? The raven's breath grew laborious and slow. The air was too thin for his lungs and they were plummeting. She knew it because she felt it – not just with her hands, but in her own body. Briar's chest tightened and burned with the raven, as though they were bound.
He brought them down into a clearing at the city gates, shrinking rapidly. The raven was no longer the great phoenix Briar took from the forest. The mighty griffin was gone. She dismounted, her chest tightening. She fell onto the ground, accidentally taking a long onyx feather with a pain-clenched fist. His size decreased beyond his original state, becoming that of a crow. She came knees, shaking, and cradled him.
A moment later, she felt a presence. It was a blinding aura of darkness that sucked the last sore puff of air from her aching lungs. A bitter wind accompanied the darkness. It was colder than anything she'd felt in nature; even the ice that battered her in the clouds. It was the chill of death, devoid of all light and warmth. She lifted her head, choking on it, and saw a hunched figure cloaked in black.
The moon momentarily crept out of the clouds, revealing the faint glint of polished iron beneath the shroud. It was in the shape of a face, covering all but a pair of hauntingly glazed eyes – the greenest she'd seen – and a severely disfigured chin and mouth. It was only for a moment, then he faded away.
Briar turned her attention back to the raven. She heard his voice, pained and raspy, in her mind. Goodbye for now, my queen. Then, a jolt. Pale green flame cast its light on the clearing. An arrow sailed between Briar's hands, landing in the center of her raven's body.
"No!"
The bird was so slight that the weapon overcame it, the oversized wooden shaft sinking through his flesh and pinning him to the ground. It was a cruel mismatch of size and power against this once mighty creature. She stroked his head gently and kissed it.
"Don't leave me, friend," she sobbed.
The air left his lungs and his muscles went limp. Briar fell on her side, her heart tightening, feeling as though it too had been pierced. When the bird died, she felt her hope die with it. Gone. Everything she knew was gone. Her home, her brother, her salvation... For the first time since she ran from Magistrate's horrors, Briar couldn't see clear visions of Cal. She dug her face into the earth and screamed.
The snow fell thicker, and she became still and weary. A thin sheet of frost became a blanket of white, pulling the warmth from her body. She closed her eyes, clutching her friend, and saw visions of the edge. She found herself warm again, curled up underneath someone's arm, laying on a bare chest beside a hearth. Briar lifted her head and saw a pair of pewter eyes, pupils cut like a cat.
She sensed she was somewhere she wasn't meant to be. It was a place that gave her knowledge and grief. She put a hand on his chest, tracing it as though she knew him well. It was a trance partly hers and partly the edge. Visions of another life and world overcame her.
Trees towered over her head. She felt a wetness at her feet and saw that she stood in a pool of ink with a distinct, metallic smell. It stained her shoes and was warm to the touch. She placed her fingers in it, then lifted them to her mouth and gagged. Blood. She looked forward into a clearing. She saw the child again, rosy-cheeked and golden haired. Her face paled to the color of snow and her lips to the shade of blood. The girl's golden tresses turned coal black as she fell to the ground. A deep scarlet tapestry blocked Briar's view.
She felt the cold, lightless void surround her. She looked to her side and saw the man with the glazed eyes and iron mask. It fell from his face and shattered like glass. She saw a wolf standing behind him, ready to attack. Its coat was every shade of shadow, from streaks of muddy cream to onyx. The beast turned his head in notice of Briar, but she had no fear. His eyes were the same stark silver she'd seen before. He turned his back and bore his fangs. Just as he moved to attack, Briar felt a loss of sensation in her finger. She looked down and saw a droplet of her own blood enter the pool of black. Time seemed to slow down as it dripped into the puddle.
Briar fell back into the man's arms by the fire, heart painfully twisting. She lay across his lap, limp, head propped up by a pillow. She looked over her shoulder and saw a great door carved into a grey stone wall. Beyond it was blackness. A shadow reached from the door, inching closer to them. The shadow had a thin, smoky face and swirling arms. The smoke curled around her arm and neck, threatening to smother. The man held Briar tightly, speaking a word she'd never heard before:
"Amaina!"
The shadow pulled back at the utterance. It retreated behind the door, which quickly disappeared. The visions ended. She fell over, energy drained by the vampiric spirit. He began speaking to her, soothing her with prose-like words.
"It's you," she remarked, looking into the familiar cat-like eyes. "Faolan."
"It's not time yet, my keep. It can't take you here."
"But my heart is too weak," Briar shivered.
"No, Briar, your heart is strong." He whispered. "It only feels so for the bond you've tasted. You will not die here. I still owe you a debt. A debt of life."
"I don't want your debt," Briar coughed, her senses returning. "You plague me. Every time I see you, you're in everything. You're everywhere, in every creature. You're in the wolf, you're in the raven. Just let me die, ilchruthach."
"Ilchruthach. Shapeshifter. You know my true nature," he remarked. He was impressed by her cleverness, but there was sadness in his eyes. "I cannot let you die, Briar. You saved me, so I shall save you."
"Save me to die, then be on your way? That's a worse fate than letting me go!"
"No...Briar, you don't understand..." he said the words just as she'd heard them in her mind by the raven. "You didn't save me to die. You revived me, and I cannot die. It will never be equalized. That's why you must live," his voice grew darker. "I am bound to you, my Briar. When you restored me, I became your slave."
"Why? What did I do to bind you?" Tears now rolled down Briar's cheeks. She shivered, the cold seeping into her vision. "I'm mortal, and I will die regardless. You can't keep me alive forever. I have nothing left!"
"Do not say such things when you know so little. You know nothing of who I am...of what I can do for you...of what I wish for you that I've wished for no living thing before..."
"You're the one who knows little," Briar exclaimed. "You wish to put my spirit back into a body that is just as much as slave as you claim to be. And for that, I hate you."
"It is my curse, then," Faolan let go of her and began pacing. "I caution you against it. Bitterness is a difficult thing to carry, and although you may say you can carry it, your heart wasn't made for such things. Hate me if you wish – it's nothing I haven't experienced before. But I must do this now. Take this from me, and wake."
He put his hand over her sternum and closed his eyes. Power surged from his hands into her body, his limbs emanating with a golden aura. She opened her eyes. The green light over the field became brighter, mixing with the grey-blue shades of dawn. She saw the raven, now a little blackbird, impaled beside her. She tried to move, but was paralyzed. She remembered very little of the place she'd returned from. Her words were a jumbled mess in her brain. All that she clearly remembered was a pair of glowing silver eyes.
"Where is this beast Simon shot last night?" Someone remarked at a distance. The voice was rough and accented with imperial tones.
"The archer saw it come down in the clearing," a woman replied. "He said he thinks he got a clear shot before it disappeared. Snow was too thick."
"Then how does he know he got it? He was standing on the wall, after all," a new voice chimed in.
"The new bows are pretty accurate. Might not have been a kill shot if he 'disappeared.' But, if he says he got it, he got it," said another. "Couldn't have gotten far in this weather."
The first one drifted from the group, shining his torch on an object a few dozen steps away. It was long and slumped over, partially buried in the snow. He waved to the others.
"Looks like he got it."
As the four soldiers neared the mass, daylight revealed their mistake. It was a little lowland girl. The arrow was lodged in the snow beside her, having missed her and nailed a crow.
"Here's your beast, Simon," the woman muttered.
One of the men bent down and turned her over. Briar's body was blue and tense, but not stiff. He put his fingers to her neck to check for life signs, and her eyelids fluttered.
"She's alive."