The fields are awash in crimson and gold hues as the sun burns its last light. I watch the golden disk disappear behind the distant foothills that once marked Flegris territory. Silas and I had traveled until nightfall until we reached the forest. We'd silently agreed not to enter until dawn, to avoid the falfnu whose prey screamed from somewhere within the forest. Falfnu are mostly nocturnal, though I have seen one during the day on occasion. At a great distance, of course. They're large and furry with big paws. Falfnu might be adorable cubs, but they grow up to be night terrors– wicked fast, serrated claws, and sharp, gleaming teeth. It is almost impossible to take falfnu down with an arrow. Their hides are thick and the fur coarse.

I sharpen my sword on a whetstone while Silas makes a fire. I almost warned against it, but decided it would be fine. What's left of the Shaki are further east, or far north, stranded in the Alliras. I've not relayed my sightings to the king for my own reasons. Maybe their existence is a comfort. Their way of life, untamable.

The fire warms my back, Sol and Juniper rest nearby. Juniper is laying down on her side, betraying her exhaustion. Sol stands as if on lookout. Setting my sword down on a rock, I fish some carrots and a bruised apple from our supplies and head over to him. He nuzzles my hand, his lips tickling my palm while he picks up the carrot I hold out for him.

A piercing bleat splits the night, spooking both Sol and Juniper. She struggles to her feet and Silas rushes over. It sounded like a goat's scream, perhaps being dragged to its death by the same falfnu. Or something else.

"It's okay," I tell Sol, trying to calm him. I run my hand over his muzzle. Sol's eyes are wide and wild, he shifts on his hooves uneasily. Silas, reaching this side of the clearing, reaches out to hold Juniper by the lead, and we both work to unfasten our horses in case of danger.

"What was that?" He asks, but I say nothing. I hadn't exactly lied earlier, when I told him the Shaki were not a threat. I just hadn't anticipated this turn of events. They scarcely travel so far inland, favoring the coastal bluffs and the mountains. Falfnu generally hunt lone animals– whatever goat it preys upon must have a lone rider, too.

The fire still blazes, the golden glow roughly illuminating the clearing. A sense of uneasiness washes over me, and I find my senses heightened, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Silas has successfully mounted Juniper, our supplies on her back.

"We should go, Aedan," Silas says in a low voice. There's snarling through the trees, and cries of now two wounded animals. I hand Sol's lead to Silas before he can argue, and dart into the forest toward the rock where I left my sword. It's gone. I spin around, eyes scanning the dark shadows– someone must have taken my weapon. I can no longer see Silas, but our fire's faint glow filters through the tree trunks and foliage.

I'm about to head back, deciding Silas must have grabbed my weapon without my noticing when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I drop to my hands and knees just as a figure darts out of the forest, tossing a throwing ax through the air where my neck would have been. He grips my sword in his other hand. I stand to my feet, a throwing knife gripped in my palm. He swings again, I spin out of the way, whipping my arm out to slash my blade across his bicep. The Shaki grunts and falters forward from the force of his blow, and I roll out of the way. My sword impales the earth beside my head and I kick out with my feet as my oppressor tackles me to the ground. My knife is knocked out of my hand. He is heavy, laden with thick furs. I gnash my teeth, biting out at his forearm. I connect with the tissue and clench my jaw harder. My arms and legs are pinned. He yelps in pain, ramming his other fist into my throat.

Pain bursts like stars across my vision and I wheeze, releasing my teeth from his arm. I was able to get an arm free when he'd dedicated his other hand to that punch, but my momentary lapse recovering from the blow to my throat serves my oppressor well. He prepares to swing again, and I throw every ounce of bodyweight I can into toppling him off of me. I lurch my body and he falls to the side just slightly. I bring myself up at the torso and headbut him in the nose.

He's off of me now, clutching his bleeding nose and upper arm. Silas has heard the commotion, and enters the clearing on Juniper, Sol galloping at her heels. Juniper rears, and Silas struggles to hold on. He's thrown from the saddle, landing hard on his back. I wince, knowing the wind to be knocked out of him. Fear rears its ugly head but I refuse to give into the feeling. I launch myself at the man, tackling him, sliding my dagger free from its sheath. I bring it to his throat just as we hit the hard earth and his lifeblood blossoms across my steel blade.

Vision blurs and I suddenly see different hands, rivulets of blood drying and cracking across my young knuckles, but it's Niklas' face staring back at me, not the Shaki man before me now. Life drains from their overlapping faces, their eyes lifeless as they bleed onto my hands. The memory seized me at just the wrong moment. I want to curse, shout, anything at all– but I cannot pull my thoughts together.

Silas manages to rise and has gotten a hold of the horses. He screams bloody murder at me, trying to rouse me from my shock. I stumble to my feet, ears ringing, an otherworldly voice reverberating along my last threads of consciousness. I hadn't heard the thudding of nimble hooves approaching through the forest. I hadn't noticed the arrows flying through the clearing until one lodged into my thigh. I look down at the shaft of the poisoned arrow protruding from my leg, and feel sudden nausea and dizziness washing over my senses. I reach down with hands that still feel unlike my own, breaking the arrow at the shaft.

Silas takes the horses out of the clearing, using trees as cover. He beckons me to follow, apparently unaware I'd been struck. Two more arrows whizz past me, meant for Silas, and I run. At least, I think I'm running. The arrows thunk into spruce trunks. The trees are like dark, shadowy apparitions– they reach for me with sinister arms. I stumble over a root, nearly collapsing against a tree, its bark rough beneath my palms. My muscles strain to keep me standing. My vision is blurred, my head is spinning.

A strong hand comes out of the darkness and grips me by the biceps– I almost jump out of my skin, thinking the ghastly trees had caught me at last. Silas' thighs strain with the effort of staying upright and somehow, I muster enough strength to jump, albeit clumsily. It's Silas' strength in the end that tugs me onto the horse, until I'm slung over Juniper's back.

"Icelace," I croak with a voice like sand; Our steeds race to put as much distance between ourselves and the ambush as possible. The arrow lodges further into my thigh with each great stride Juniper takes. I yell out in pain, seeing nothing but floating magenta specks, feeling nothing but numbing dizziness.

That last thread of consciousness finally snaps, but those same unfamiliar words echo against my hollow mind:

Aedan, du nir Dyrvordr.

—

Warm light shines behind my eyelids. I hear the pounding of hooves on hard packed earth– in sync with my heartbeat. The world is burning, creation all over again– my skin is hot, hot, hot, so very hot. I want to shred my own flesh. I'm burning, I'm wheezing– suffocating. I'm deaf, blind and lame– all at once.

"I can't breathe, I can't–" I make an effort to speak, but I can't be sure if I thought the words or if I physically said them.

"Just hold on," Comes the reply. Who said that? Sol– No, Sol can't talk. I'm beginning to wonder if I imagined it.

"Almost there, Aedan. Just hold on." It's Silas. That doesn't matter though, the searing pain burning up my thigh is relentless. My head throbs, the sensation like a stampede of wild mustangs trampling across my frontal lobe. I must have lost consciousness again, because this time I'm transported back in time.

—

"Unlike the poisonous compound of Gershin berries, Icelace flowers do not need to undergo heat to be activated. They can be mashed into paste to coat the edge of a knife, or the tip of an arrow," Lord Daemon recites this information as if reading it from a book. His eyes are closed and he paces the room. "The poison is fast acting once it enters the victim's bloodstream. In ancient times of war, Icelace was sometimes used to torture information from people. It was later outlawed, deemed inhumane, but not to the Shaki. They've used Icelace tipped arrows for centuries in their raids. The poison can be easily cured if one has the knowledge for such things."

"If the poison can be cured so easily then why would the Shaki use it?" I ask him, even as I take notes. My fingers feel cramped from gripping my quill, though I know we are almost finished with the lecture. Lord Daemon always shows me how to brew his poisons after lecture. Then we create the antidote.

He turns slowly to face me. His facial features are severe– a sharp, straight nose, mouth pressed in a firm line. A sharp jawline obscured by a carefully trimmed beard.

"Think, Lord Aedan," Lord Daemon's use of my former title never feels like a mockery, despite being the one to strip my home and family from me. When others call me Lord, I want to slice their throats, or bury my dagger in their guts– let them bleed out slowly and painfully. "Why might a band of raiders seek to debilitate their enemies? Why not just kill them?" My brow creases as I think, my adolescent hands gripping the quill tighter.

"If their main goal is not to kill, their goal is to steal," I start to say, looking to Lord Daemon for confirmation before I continue. He nods, and I say, "If they killed everyone, they would no longer have civilians to continue raiding."

Lord Daemon's eyes are alight with something like mischief as he looks at me intently, "Yes, but perhaps also the Shaki are misunderstood. Perhaps they raid to assert themselves against an empire that seeks to absorb them and do away with their old ways of life." My eyes trace the jagged scar running down Lord Daemon's bronze face. I imagine him in furs, a bow slung across his back, astride a great mountain goat.

When the realization strikes me, Lord Daemon's expression softens. Perhaps he and I are not so different, perhaps we both have lost our homes and family to the same perpetrator. He turns away and continues his pacing.

The rest of the lecture flies by quickly, we go over the steps to making the Icelace poison and its antidote.

The smell of the poison is potent at first but slowly fades and smells sweeter, like the flowers' natural state. I'm shocked to learn that the antidote is as simple as stuffing the wound with shredded Icelace leaves. The thick leaves are moist inside, secreting a milky substance that counteracts the poison if administered within ample time. It all depends on where the Icelace enters the bloodstream and how much is administered. Some can survive as long as 24 hours, whereas others are dead in two.

—

I wake to a dull throb in my thigh, but otherwise no feeling. A familiar banner hangs from a wooden beam stretching across the ceiling above my head. I realize where I am. Captain Bassek's private villa, complete with a silken banner bearing the military insignia– a gift from the King two years prior for a decade of service to the crown. The captain's choice of land was included in the gift, evidently.

"He's awake," A servant proclaims. The sound of footsteps approaching from across the room draws my gaze. I struggle to turn my head.

"Welcome back, Aedan." Silas looks furious, his gaze hard and unyielding. "When were you going to warn me about the Shaki? Or tell me about the Icelace?"

"Good to see you, too," I rasp in reply, squeezing my eyes shut. They'd administered the antidote. I realize that Silas must have driven the horses past the point of exhaustion to reach a place of refuge. He must have ridden through the night to make it to the captain's private home.

"You lied to my face on two occasions— about the Shaki, and about the contents of your bag from the apothecary. You withheld crucial information," Silas is nearly shouting now, his temper rising by the second, "You nearly got yourself killed."

"I can handle myself." I state, my stare hard and unrelenting against his own. I know he saved my life, and I should be grateful. Silas throws his hands up in exasperation, and leaves the room. I'm surprised he isn't sleeping, having ridden through the night as he had. I look toward a window to find utter blackness outside. Night had fallen, I must have slept through the entire day.

I find relief in the fact that Captain Bassek is not home. I am grateful for that one small mercy in the wake of all Silas and I had endured the day before. I relax against the makeshift bed of blankets and pillows, and allow myself to drift back into a shallow sleep. The recovery process is generally accelerated with plenty of rest; Then we can be back on our way toward the Southern Temple and the task that awaits us there.•••
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