Stolen Enchantress, Page 2

  The man stretched back a bowstring in one fluid motion, the arrow flying directly toward them. Larkin could do little more than let out a squeak of surprise and hunch protectively over Sela, her eyes squeezing shut. Behind her came an inhuman scream of pain and a crash.

  Holding her sister tight, Larkin whipped around and leaped to her feet. She staggered back from a writhing, monstrous lizard the size of a man, an arrow sticking out of its eye.

  The beast had found her.

  With another scream, it clawed at the arrow until it broke off. Its remaining eye fixed on her, and its tongue flicked out to taste the air. It charged, mouth full of curving teeth. Larkin jumped back. Its maw snapped shut over empty air. It gathered itself to lunge, when another arrow bloomed from its gaping mouth. The creature gave a roaring shriek.

  “Run!” came a cry from behind her.

  Move, she screamed at her sluggish body. Gasping a breath into her starving lungs, Larkin held her sister tight and sprinted away from the creature, toward the man running in their direction. He hauled an ax and shield from his back and charged the creature. The lizard lunged, its massive tail launching it forward. The man braced himself behind his shield, ax swinging up and under. They collided in a heap.

  Clutching Sela to her, Larkin panted and waited for one or the other of them to move. If there were more beasts, she would need this man. If he didn’t rise . . . she didn’t know what she would do. Sela lay still in Larkin’s arms, her hands fisted in Larkin’s hair. Larkin rubbed her back, trying to emit comfort she herself didn’t feel.

  A groan made Larkin tense—was it man or beast? The beast’s great body shifted and rose, then flopped to the side as the man pushed himself out from under it. Relief flickered in his eyes when he saw her. He pushed to stand, planted his foot on the beast’s side, and yanked his ax out, scanning the clearing.

  “Did its teeth so much as scratch you or the child?” He had an oddly formal accent.

  Larkin shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she managed. His head was shaved, except for a long braid behind one ear. He was beautiful, his body muscled and his skin dark, though as he came closer, she noticed pock scars on his cheeks. His clothes, though finely made, were worn thin and bloody.

  She didn’t recognize him, and she knew everyone in town by sight. Perhaps he was from one of the other towns or cities that made up the United Cities of Idelmarch?

  “Who are you?” Larkin asked.

  “My name is Denan.” He rinsed his blood-soaked ax in the stream, dried it, and reattached it and the shield to his back.

  “I’m Larkin. This is my sister, Sela. Thank you for helping us.”

  He strode over to where he’d dropped his bow and picked it up. “What are you doing inside the forest? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”

  She stiffened. “Sela wandered in. I came looking for her.”

  He approached her, brows drawn down disapprovingly. She forced herself not to back away from him as he paused in front of her. “You should have watched her better.”

  She ground her teeth and reminded herself that this man saved their lives. “Yes. I should have.”

  He gave her a long, appraising look, noting the sharp bones of her wrists and the threadbare state of her skirt and her father’s too-large, tattered shirt. She was suddenly aware of how fine Denan’s clothing and boots were. And how strangely cut. He wore a pair of close-fitting leather trousers, a tunic that came to points in front of his thighs, and a cloak—all a mottled green that mimicked the dappled shadows. She shifted her dirty bare feet, embarrassed by her ragged hem.

  He stepped past her, toward the tree where she’d first seen him. “You’ve made too much noise. It will attract more of them.”

  “More beasts?” Sela whimpered. Larkin heartily agreed with her. She shifted her sister’s weight and hurried after him. Even if he was brusque, he had the weapons.

  Denan rummaged through his pack and pulled out something bundled in cloth. “They’re called gilgads. They’re venomous, and their hide is like armor. You have to go for the eyes or their soft underbelly with arrows. Axes can pierce them if you put enough momentum behind it, but you have to keep clear of their teeth, which is where the shield comes in.”

  Sela whimpered.

  “You’re scaring her,” Larkin chided.

  Denan’s expression softened. He held out a bit of hard bread to Sela. “They can’t hurt you if you know how to kill them, Sela.”

  Her sister took it—Sela never turned down food—and began nibbling a corner.

  “We’re lost,” Larkin said. “Can you show us the way back to Hamel?”

  Denan held out another piece of the bread for Larkin. His cuff pulled back to reveal raised scars on the inside of his right wrist. Realizing she was staring, she took the bread, but hesitated to eat it, pride warring with the hollow ache of her stomach. She settled for stuffing the bread in the pouch at her waist, the one she used to hold anything edible she gathered during planting. She hoped it wouldn’t get too much dirt on it from the roots she’d dug earlier.

  Ignoring the protest of her watering mouth, Larkin asked again, “Can you take us home?”

  He started into the forest. “This way.”

  Larkin looked back and noted the storm coming from the other side of the meadow. It had been raining when she entered the forest. “No, it has to be back that way.”

  “It isn’t.” He pulled out something from inside his cloak—a set of panpipes.

  “You don’t understand. It was storming when we left. And the storm is that way.” She tipped her head in the direction she thought they should go.

  “My people are known as the pipers. Would you like to hear me play?” Without waiting for her to answer, he rested his pipes on his bottom lip. A melody, haunting and full of longing, poured forth. A melody that reminded Larkin of a lullaby her mother had hummed long ago, back when she used to smile.

  An old remembrance roused within Larkin—a memory deeper than memory. A place her soul knew, even if her body didn’t. Her injured hand buzzed, and she drifted into another time and place.

  She was in an elegant boat, her hair long and wavy down her back. She wore white, a golden headdress crowning her head. Before her, an enormous tree glowed silver. A crowd dressed in finery stood by rank, waiting for her.

  Denan continued to play, and she followed, stepping where he stepped, moving when he moved. He glanced back and smiled. She smiled too, eager for him to keep playing. She would follow that song wherever it willed her.

  “The Song of the White Tree,” Denan said, bringing her back from wherever she’d gone.

  Larkin shook herself and glanced back. She couldn’t even see the meadow anymore. Sela slept in her aching arms. How far had they come while she’d been lost to the sound? “Where is this tree?” she sighed.

  “In the Alamant.” He gestured to the south.

  She staggered to a stop. “But the only thing south is more of the Forbidden Forest.”

  Denan reached for Sela. “Why don’t you let me carry your sister? You look tired.”

  Unsure, Larkin stepped back. The haunting melody echoed through her, but as she peered into the towering trees, a sliver of fear writhed inside her. “Shouldn’t we be there by now? How long have we been walking?”

  Denan stared at her like a cat watching a sparrow, waiting to see where they might land. She took another step back. “Wh-who are you? Why are your clothes and hair so strange? And that music . . .” She couldn’t remember anything from when he started playing to when he stopped. She took another step back. “What did you do to me?”

  “I’m taking you somewhere safe.” He lifted the pipes to his mouth and started playing. The song reawakened a river of longing inside her, the current threatening to pull her under again. She hefted her sister higher, the edge of the wound on her palm catching on her sister’s tunic. Pain flashed up her arm. That pain brought with it a moment of clarity even as the first raindro
p hit the back of her head and skidded down her neck.

  For a moment, it was Larkin’s will battling against the song’s pull, and she was being swept under again. She focused on the pain in her hand. On her sisters and her mother. And Bane . . . She was supposed to meet him at the river later.

  This man was as dangerous as the beast he’d slain. Only, instead of tooth and claw, Denan was using magic. She needed a weapon, a shield, or— A buzzing tingle spread from her hand, shot up her arm, and rooted through her body. The song’s hold over her shattered. She gasped and staggered back.

  He stopped playing. His face shifted from shocked to grim. “Don’t run.”

  Clutching her sister to her chest, Larkin whirled and sprinted for the meadow, her injured hand pounding in rhythm with her frantic heart.

  Larkin ducked a branch and broke into the meadow.

  “Larkin?” Sela asked, her hands wrapped tight around Larkin’s neck.

  Ignoring her sister, Larkin leaped over the stream that bisected the meadow, stumbled to one knee on the other side, and nearly dropped Sela. She glanced back, sure Denan would be on top of her, but he’d paused at the meadow’s edge. He lifted what looked like a hollow stick to his mouth and blew hard. A dart impaled the ground next to her.

  “Larkin?” Sela whimpered.

  What was on the end of that dart? Poison? Bile rising in her throat, Larkin scrambled to her feet and sprinted across the last half of the meadow. She looked back as she passed beneath the tree’s shadows. Denan vaulted over the stream, his attention fixed on them.

  Larkin stared at the clouds in the distance and silently promised her sister to head straight for them, to not get lost, to keep them both safe. She wasn’t sure if she could keep those promises—not when she faced the stirring again.

  Sela’s hands wrapped too tight around Larkin’s neck. “I want to go home!” she demanded.

  Larkin loosened her sister’s grip. “Shh, the piper will hear you.”

  Sela whimpered. Trickles of sweat ran down the sides of Larkin’s face. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Breathless, she waited for the stirring to happen. Instead, her legs buckled, air sawing in and out of her burning lungs. She couldn’t run much longer. She searched for a place to hide. She caught sight of a small incline, a fallen tree covering it like a makeshift roof. She glanced around for Denan, relieved that she didn’t see him.

  She changed course, scrambled over the fallen tree, and crouched on the other side, holding Sela close. Kneeling to ease the cramping in her legs, Larkin tried to quiet her breathing. Through the trees, she saw a sliver of her family’s home, the black rock walls slick with rain. So agonizingly close. But to reach it, she would face the stirring.

  She peeked over the log, catching sight of Denan searching for them—close enough she could make out the scars on his cheeks. She ducked, her back between the log and the tree.

  “It would be so much easier if you came with me freely, Larkin,” Denan called. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Sela started crying softly. Larkin held a finger to her lips. Her sister nodded solemnly and buried her head in Larkin’s neck. Holding Sela tighter, Larkin tried desperately to come up with some way out of this. She longed for her hoe; she wasn’t even sure when she’d lost it. Not that it would do any good. She didn’t stand a chance against someone twice her size, armed as he was, and she’d never put her sister at risk.

  Maybe he wouldn’t find them. Maybe they could hide until he left and then make a run for it. She strained to listen but heard nothing above her sister’s ragged breathing. Steeling herself, Larkin peeked out again.

  He had halved the distance between them, every step bringing him closer. “Let me take you somewhere there’s always food and a soft bed and someone to care for you.” He was close enough now that she could make out his obsidian eyes beneath the hood of his cloak. He searched for her with a hunger that made her heart leap in her chest.

  Sela gasped. Denan’s head whipped toward the tiny sound. His gaze locked with Larkin’s. She bolted, half expecting the stirring to attack her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to fight it again. Instead, something pricked her right shoulder, and pain shot up and down her arm. Something hard and foreign lodged inside her.

  She staggered and craned to look back—a dart protruded from the center of her right shoulder blade. She yanked it out and stumbled sideways, bumping into a tree. At the touch, déjà vu washed through her. She shook her head against the strange sensation and stumbled on.

  Within ten steps, numbness spread from her shoulder, sinking deep into her muscles. Her right arm stopped working and dangled uselessly at her side. She held on to Sela with her left. Her legs grew heavy and sluggish. She was almost there. She could see the bright blue sky through the trees. The mud of her family’s freshly plowed fields. Her home. The town of Hamel on the other side of the swollen river. Denan’s steps pounded right behind her. She reached the forest’s edge, took the first step into the open.

  His hand closed around her shoulder. She wasn’t going to make it, but her sister still might. She dropped and hit her knees hard. It should have hurt, but all she could feel was the impossibly heavy weight of her body.

  “Run, Sela!” Larkin gasped, tipping forward. “Get help!”

  The little girl sprang from her arms like a sparrow loosed from a snake’s mouth. Larkin felt a moment of exquisite relief as her sister crossed the muddy field. She had escaped the forest, even if Larkin hadn’t.

  Arms grasped her ankles, dragged her behind a tree, and flipped her onto her back. She found herself face-to-face with Denan. She tried to kick free, but her legs refused to obey her frantic demands.

  “I told you not to run,” he said matter-of-factly. He pulled a vial from his bag, bit off the cork, tipped her head up, and pushed it between her deadened lips.

  Liquid seeped into her mouth, tasting of pepper. She tried to spit it out, but she barely had enough dexterity left to choke down a swallow. He looked her over quickly, scooped her over his shoulder as easily as if she were a newborn lamb, and loped into the forest.

  She tried to writhe, but all she managed was a feeble twitch. The trees slowly snuffed out the town, the fields, her home. She’d never see her family again. She couldn’t hold her head up anymore. Her body swayed helplessly, as helpless as she was during her father’s beatings.

  But after, I always get up.

  She glared at Denan’s back. The textured feathers of the darts in his belt caught her eye. She strained to reach one, but her arms were little more than dead weight.

  Denan shifted to avoid something in his path, and her left hand brushed the fletching. With the last of her dexterity, she pinched it. Denan’s next swing pulled it free. It didn’t take much to add a little strength to the natural rhythm of her swaying arms. The dart sank into his right side. Denan jerked to a stop.

  He pulled the dart free, releasing a bead of blood that streaked down his dark skin. He shifted her from his back into his arms. “Do you have to do everything the hard way?”

  From far away, the town’s warning horn sounded. Relief washed through her. Sela had made it to safety, and she’d summoned help. Denan’s head jerked toward the sound. He eased Larkin onto the ground with a look of profound annoyance, took another vial from his belt, and tipped the contents into his mouth. She noticed with some satisfaction he was already listing, as if the muscles on the right side of his back weren’t working.

  Frantic shouts rose in the distance. Denan glanced toward the sound and then back at her. Right arm now dangling uselessly from his side, he tucked her against the same fallen log she’d hid behind before. His movements grew more and more sluggish as he swept up branches and leaves, scattering them all over her. His dark eyebrows drew down in frustration. His fingers brushed the back of her cheek. Her whole body was numb, but somehow, she felt it. And she couldn’t even shudder in revulsion at the intimate touch.

  He stared at her as if committing her face to mem
ory; the mere thought made her want to scream. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “You should be safe until I can return for you.” He covered her face with leaves so she could only see a smattering of the world beyond, then turned and limped back into the Forbidden Forest.

  Unable to turn away, she watched as his movements became less and less graceful until the trees swallowed him and she could see no more.

  On the inside, Larkin writhed and kicked and screamed. On the outside, she was still for so long she wondered if she was dead. But no, she could still feel her heart pounding in her chest—a chest that rose and fell with each of her breaths. She could even smell the spicy decay of the leaves that cocooned her.

  Had Denan forever trapped her inside this helpless body? But no, she’d pricked him with the same poisoned dart, and he’d promised to come back for her. Whatever he’d done to her, it had to be temporary. She willed her fingers to move, her nose to twitch. Nothing happened.

  Rain began to fall. Though she couldn’t feel it, she could hear it tapping against the leaves before dripping into her eyes. Her vision blurred, and she couldn’t even blink the moisture away.

  From the direction of her town, the warning horn sounded another long, hopeless note. She imagined women snatching their children and running for their houses, the men lifting their hoes as weapons. Another sound wove through the trees: footfalls squelching through mud.

  “Larkin!” her papa cried.

  I’m here! she tried to call back, but no sound left her dead lips.

  “Tracks. She must have come this way.” She recognized Lord Daydon’s careful way of speaking.

  Sela must have gone to their father first. He’d crossed the river to the manor and roused Lord Daydon, who’d sent someone—probably Bane, his son—to sound the alarm. The footfalls stopped, and she imagined the men crouching to study the prints at the forest’s edge, much as she’d done earlier.

  Please, she silently begged. Notice the third set of tracks. Realize that this was not the work of the forest and its beast, but of a man.