Scorched (Phoenix Chronicles Book 2)

Chapter 4: Out of the Pass

"I can't believe it took us this long to get out of the Pass." Caltren, the map-keeper, shifted his parchment maps as he considered their path. 

Eric flexed his fingers as he watched Caltren's face scrunch in determination. His unit had noticed the markings, but none of them asked any questions. One quelling look from Samson and they'd all behaved as if nothing were different. Eric, however, had a harder time feeling normal.

The markings weren't just on his hands. They traveled up his arms to his shoulders, splitting as one line of each color joined to meet at his collarbone. More markings climbed up the sides of his neck, disappearing behind his ears. The rest of his body seemed untouched, but Eric wondered if it wouldn't spread before long.

They'd been in the Pass for weeks since he'd collapsed, and part of him wondered if it wasn't because of Laina - Phoenix - that they remained lost in the web of mountain trails.

Or perhaps it's me. Perhaps I don't want to see her again. Eric tilted his head to crack his neck, hoping to relieve some of his tension.  Nothing had felt right since that day - and not just because of the markings.

Ice flowed through his veins, though he couldn't say he felt cold or uncomfortable. He sensed the power settling inside him, waiting for him to call it forth again. His sword, which had long been part of his life, was now covered by a thin layer of frost. No ordinary frost, wiped away or warmed by the sun, but a frost harder than ice, yet thinner, like a dusting of protection over the blade.

It didn't abide by logic.

"Don't let it consume you," Eric said, almost as much to himself as to Caltren. "Tranchet's Pass is almost as living as Fangralee, touched by the same trees along the boarder with the other lands. Perhaps we weren't meant to leave until now."

"Still," Caltren cocked his head to the side, chewing on his lower lip as he studied his maps, "it seems strange." With a sigh, Caltren rolled up the parchment. "We should be exiting today if my markers are correct. We'll arrive at the mideastern base by midday at the latest."

"Sir." Jensa approached them. "Tyrella Tremaine is refusing to eat." 

Eric let out a grunt of frustration. Tyrella had been more trouble than she was worth - first with her attempt on her own life, and since then, desperate attempts to succeed the next time. She'd tried running and jumping off of the cliff's edge of one of the caves they'd rested in, but Roden had snatched her at the last moment. 

She'd also tried eating poisonous berries, only to be disappointed when Caltren informed her they were wild blueberries and perfectly safe to eat. Now, apparently, she thought she could starve herself.

"We'll need to pick up our speed. The queen will know how to keep Tyrella alive."

Jensa didn't step away, shooting a glance at Caltren, who hummed to himself as he secured his maps in their cylindrical canister. Caltren, Eric had long noticed, didn't have the heart for war or battle, but as they'd never been in any sort of conflict, Caltren could spend his time mapping out the country without interruption. 

"Caltren," Eric said, drawing the soldier's attention, "would you ensure the men are ready to leave?"

Caltren leapt to his feet and saluted. "Yes, sir." 

When he'd walked out of earshot, Jensa cleared his throat. "Sir, our scouts noticed something odd about the mid-eastern base. Something you may need to address. There seems to have been an...incident."

"An incident?" Eric arched a brow. In his opinion, Jensa was to be held at arm's length. The man's very presence brought back Eric's headache - something that had ebbed since the marks had appeared. He wasn't about to give Jensa any readable reaction, calculating as he watched Jensa squirm.