When Blood Runs Cold - Chapter 261

(Soren’s perspective)

“You are sure this is the place?” Kal whispers dubiously into his cupped hand as we walk our way down a narrow, beaten track through the dense thickets of woodland. “Because between you and me,” he adds, picking off fallen leaves from his leather armour and scattering them over the ground carelessly. “It all looks a little empty.”

That of course, is very much the point of the Enchanted Forest. The perception of a vast emptiness that lends to the presumption that one is travelling alone. And without keener senses, I too might have fallen into this trap and assumed that out here there was simply nothing but trees and dense thickets of greenery to snare at our clothing. But beneath the rustle of the wind and the low chirrup of nocturnal birds, another sound rises over the chill of the evening: a thousand beating hearts all synchronized as one.

There are creatures within this forest, lurking in the shadows and the foliage and the bark of the trees, creatures that will not be seen until their knives are at your throat or their melody is in your ears.

“Of course this is the right place, Soren knows these grounds very well, don’t you Soren,” he adds with a sly grin to break up the unnerving tension between us, imposed by the foreboding darkness and little more.

Down here, everything appears as though it is eternally night time: dark and filled with the ominous, eerie foreboding of being quite unable to tell what lurks in the shadows two meters ahead of you. If it weren’t for Ithuriel and Fangorn bearing torches of fire, the moral, non vampire majority of our party would be plunged into complete blackness, and then they would be of no use to anyone.

Shaking off the lose scraps of debris from my wings, I brush aside a netted web of brambles from the path in front of us, forging on ahead. There is no time to lose.

“Absolutely. I have travelled this path many times before- most recently to visit Lord Xavier at his wedding to Princess Kagura. I know this route like the back of my hand,” I retort with a good natured smile that Kal weakly returns. It doesn’t take a genius to realise he is unconvinced.

But that is not the only expression on his pallid face.

Taking a moment to stop, I suddenly realise how exhausted everyone looks. Pale and fatigued, I can even hear the steady thrum of their hearts pounding beneath their skin, working over time simply to keep its body of flesh and blood standing. Ithuriel and Fangorn are both smeared with dirt and muck, and a few streaks of monster blood that are a mere by-product of our encounter with some creatures that had caused quite the nuisance earlier in the day. To appear at the palace in such a grim state would certainly not be putting a foot forward in the right direction, especially considering it is of upmost importance that we convince Kagura of our intentions to help.

But right now, the entire group looks as though they could collapse on the spot- Fangorn included.

In fact, it occurs to me then, that we haven’t stopped to have a break all day. Sometimes I forget that they, unlike me, cannot survive on their limited stamina.

“Alright,” I relent, throwing up my hands before promptly dusting them of on my sides. “I relent, we will call it in for a night.”

“Thank the heavens,” Ithuriel mutters, rubbing his hand over his face as his hair fades to a washed out shade of silvery grey. Blinking a few times, he settles his two toned eyes on the path ahead of us, peering into the gloom. Evidently, he seems to find nothing there, because the next moment he adds:

“But where exactly can we go?”

“Yeah,” Kal adds now, nodding affirmatively to Ithuriel as he comes to slump himself by the angel’s side, exhausted. “I don’t smell any camps, that is for sure. But there must be somewhere, we are all dying here.”

Of course, the little dragon’s statement is not entirely unfounded.

For the best part of the day, we had spent out time flying over forests and plains and the occasional mountain range, working our way down south to the lands of pixies and faery folk and endless enchanted forests where night is day and magic is simply just another word. Fortunately with my new found wings, the whole ordeal was made vastly more simple considering the fact I can now fly (a far more favourable and swifter option than trekking our journey on foot). So while both Kal and Ithuriel carried the majority of our supplies (for they have wings of their own) I was left to transport Fangorn, keeping him tucked in my grasp until either the angel or the dragon called for a rest break to replenish their stamina. And so the day has continued rhythmically in these series of stops and starts, passing through miles of open land in the cold, frosted skies until at last we had reached the borders of a dark, luminous forest and decided it better that we go on foot for the rest. It would be impossible to spy what is lurking under the dense canopy of trees from so high above, so with torches in hand, we began to march our way down the lone path that carves its way through the forest. While initially that was a much needed break for Kal and Ithuriel’s wearied wings, after several hours of non stop travelling, the rest of their body has begun to crumble with them too.

Rolling my eyes, I sling my sachet of items further over my shoulder.

“Right,” I sigh, pausing to allow everyone to group around me. “There is a tavern up ahead, if I recall. We will stay the night there. Ithuriel and Kal can get some rest, and Fangorn and I will work on seeing if we can scout for any knowledge of either the soul, or Serena. Sound good?”

“Great, actually. Thank you Soren,” Ithuriel nods in a weary appreciation, lowering the torch in his hand to allow his muscles to recover. I suppose his rigorous training as a warrior must have somewhat diminished in his month of posing as little more than a fox. Or maybe I am overestimating mortal limits once more. Scooping out the torch from his hand, I begin to walk back down the path, pushing back the shadows as the flames crackle against the gloom.

“Come on,” I instruct without looking back. “Not far now.”

By the time we reach the tavern the sky is a deep purple and the forest is alive with the chitter and screech of midnight animals, rustling through the undergrowth in search of their afternoon meal. The tavern itself is nothing out of the ordinary: large, and fledged with hanging shrubs and reeking with the stench of booze and blood from a recent brawl. Stopping just before the entrance by a few open aired tables (fortunately all of which are empty), I set down the torch in the ground, dusting off my hands.

Besides us, a crow lands wobbly on the sign that professes the place as ‘The Green Faery’, cawing its delight into the night as it buries its beak into its first catch of the night. Whatever it has in its beak, it looks suspiciously humanoid. I return my gaze to my friends.

“Alright, this is where we stop. Remember: try to keep a low profile. If you see any one who looks far off, or that their eyes appear slightly misted, let me know. We have no information on Azrael movements or whereabouts, or whether or not he has implemented spies outside of where he currently resides. It is best to keep on guard.”

“I will stay with Ithuriel,” Kal pipes up, linking his arm with the stocky angel. A slight twitch of his upper lip is the only sign of protest that Ithuriel gives, shutting his eyes momentarily as a dark pink flushes across his hair.

A peculiar ability he has landed himself, I chuckle inwardly. It seems he can never quite hide any of his emotions, no matter how hard he tries. Though it is often quite the task deciphering what each of those hair colours correlates to.

“Alright, that works. Keep someone with you or in your line of sight at all times. That way we will all be safe.”

“Good, good,” Fangorn nods, clapping my back in affirmation. “In the meantime,” he adds, edging his way to the tavern door, his fingers resting upon the handle impatiently. “I would like a drink. Soren?” he calls, swinging open the door now, allowing a buttery golden light to stream out from the inside, washing over our forms. I draw up my hood, grinning from inside the blackness of my cloak.

“A drink sounds delightful.”

Shuffling in one at a time, we step out into the bustling atmosphere of tavern life, ducking through low wooden beams and the occasional drink that is thrown from across the bar by a drunken creature too bleary eyed to see.

“Tavern life,” Fangorn beams, taking a deep breath of air, inhaling the fumes of the alcohol and the cheap boozy foods. “I have missed this.”