Haunted Past

Chapter 28

It was wet. Felt like a stupid thing to note, but the rain had soaked through to Orin's bones and the storm wasn't even at full force yet. The air was icy. He wanted to be anywhere but here, carrying his dying friend to a rest spot that might not even be safe. It took all of Orin's strength of will to keep forging forward. 

One, two, three, four.

Devon was heavy, but breathing. Orin was hyper-aware of it. Blood dripped down his back. The hot glide mixed with the cold drizzle of rain. Orin's own injuries had not healed enough for this, but Orin would live. Devon had to. Devon needed to. He would not let Devon die. Ali would never forgive Orin if he let the boy's father die. Orin couldn't let more children become father-less under his name, another wife lose her husband. If they had waited, if Orin had hidden with Ailin instead of forcing Devon to flee with him, this would not have happened. 

Pain. It hurt. Orin deserved the pain, he knew it. That did not stop every step making him want to cry out. Calling for help was impossible like this. Between the storm and the buzz of Elven magic tainting the ground, it would stop Orin's pitiful level of tricks from reaching far enough to call for aid. If Scythe was actively looking for them, perhaps but that risked the elves finding them. 

"One, two, three," Orin choked on the words, continuing forward. They kept him moving. It was easier somehow. It was not long until it was safe to rest. 

Then something shifted. The trees creaked loudly around him, a hiss of leaves blew into his way. A warning bolt of ice blew down his spine and he paused, looking up into the wild forest. Something was wrong. The ball of worry in his stomach tightened. A memory fluttered passed his eyes. There was no guarantee that the structure was secure. The elves could use it as freely as any other creature. The charms protected the people within them from danger, not the travellers on the trail from dangers residing in them. Danger lay ahead and nature was warning him to stay away. The blast of air blew around him but no longer against him as he stayed put, panting as he stared at the track ahead. 

Fuck. He couldn't take Devon if it was not safe for sure. 

Orin slowly lowered Devon to ground, careful to rest him at the base of a tree. Devon's pulse was weak but beating. Pulling his dagger out, Orin cut a few notches into the bark. A vague memory of his mother teaching him runes alongside his sister. Anyone could use runes. Only a few learnt how to use them effectively. Orin had not studied them far. His father had been angry enough that his mum had taught him tricks. Hopefully, it would work. 

Leaving Devon injured and vulnerable went against everything Orin knew. A good man, a good friend, a good warrior, did not leave a friend on death's door. Taking him forward would be far worse. 

Orin's body hurt and refused to move as it should. His steps were heavy. The mud gripped tight to him and the gust fought him. He pulled his cloak tight and battled against it as it sent his hood flying backwards. His knuckles cracked at the strain and he dropped to his knees, waiting for the battering power of the wind to cease.

He had to know if the resting point was safe or not. 

That answer came quickly. The answer clear. It was not. 

A light burned in the resting spot. Orin ducked lower into the trees as he saw people moving within the structure. Figures tall and far too skinny to be human in nature. He scrambled to get closer as soft mutterings flowed in the breeze. The over-powering blast dimmed, but the shower continued to fall steadily.

"They haven't returned yet," someone said.

"The storm is fierce. They may have required to seek shelter early," a more familiar voice intoned. Orin's stomach tightened. Why did he know that voice?