Estelle had made good progress by the end of the third day. She camped in a small empty cave nestled into the jagged mountainside. The air grew steadily colder the higher up the mountain she went. There was more snow here than in the foothills. Parts of the stream she was following were frozen over completely.
Estelle huddled closer to her fire, hidden at the very back of the cave. She kept rubbing her thumb over the necklace Mikael had given her. With each passing day, her concern for him was growing. She had given up trying to push him into the back of her mind. Her worries voiced themselves and all she could do was not to let them distract her too much from the threats around her.
The shadows brushed across her cheek, offering what comfort they could. Even that small movement seemed to cause a lot of strain on them. Estelle sighed, leaning her head back against the wall.
"I'm supposed to be planning my mating ceremony and keeping my dad from killing Mikael," she grumbled. "Instead, I'm stuck on this Mother forsaken mountain."
Participating in the Blood Rite had always been her dream. Yet, now that she was here, she found that she couldn't wait for the Rite to be over. She stumbled across decaying bodies every day. She hadn't counted the amount of times she caught a glimpse of tanned skin and brown hair, and raced to the body just to make sure it wasn't Mikael.
Feet scuffled on the stone beyond the cave. Estelle glanced at the opening and hurriedly kicked ash over her fire, smothering it. That was a trick Mikael had taught her while they were on Aurora. She grabbed her spear and knives, waiting.
Perhaps it was just an animal. Perhaps it was another Illyrian looking for shelter. Maybe it was Ze'ev or one of his corpses. Estelle sniffed the air, but she couldn't scent whatever was lurking outside.
"We know you're in there, Shadowsinger," a male voice called. "Put your weapons down and you can leave alive."
"This is my camping spot. Find your own," Estelle hollered back. She tightened her hands around the staff of her spear.
Three Illyrians appeared in the mouth of the cave. "You had your chance," one of them said.
"We'll just have to remove you ourselves."
They rushed at her simultaneously. Estelle somersaulted between the legs of one, managing to hold onto her spear. She leaped to her feet and drove the point of the weapon in between his bound wings. With a sharp twist, his flesh ripped and the male screamed. Estelle twirled the spear behind her back, waiting for the others to attack.
One of them charged. Estelle dropped low and swept his legs with the staff. She flipped a knife into her free hand and plunged it into his stomach. She tore the blade through his guts and blood soaked his shirt. The male began to convulse, pressing his hands against his riven center, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding.
His other injured friend hurried to help him. "You rutting bitch!" The third male roared. He grabbed Estelle's wrist and wrenched it the wrong way. Her knife clattered to the ground. She swung her spear at his head. He blocked it with his forearm and jerked it out of her hand, before snapping it in half.
Estelle grunted as he slammed her into the cave wall. The ashwood chains dug into her wings and she cried out in pain. The man pinned her leg against the wall with one of his own. He held her wrists over her head and wrapped his free hand around her throat, squeezing tightly.
Estelle gasped for breath and squirmed in a futile attempt to free herself. The other male left his fallen friend's side. That male had ceased struggling and stared vacantly at the roof of the cave. He was dead. Blood still flowed from his stomach.
"Let's carve her up and leave her for the wolves to eat," the male spat.
The one holding her merely shook his head. Black spots swam in Estelle's vision. She wheezed, but no air could reach her lungs. "I have a better idea."
The shadows were moving as best as they could, urging her to fight back. Estelle couldn't think past the hazy darkness that was creeping over her mind. A blurred figure appeared in the mouth of the cave.
Estelle couldn't determine who or what it was. She saw it reach a hand towards the male who held her. The male released her at once and Estelle collapsed, gulping down large breaths. When she lifted her head, she saw that the male was dead, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. His own hand was shoved through his chest. Through his heart.
Estelle scrambled backwards and bumped into the other male. She couldn't stop the scream that tore from her sore throat. He was withered into a ghostly mummy, as though someone had sucked the very life from him. She heard a whisper of movement behind her.
Estelle stared in horror at Ze'ev. He was even more disfigured than before. His eyes and cheeks were hollow. His black veins seemed almost ready to burst from his pale skin. Ze'ev tilted his head at that unusual angle and watched her.
"And here I thought you would be a challenge." His voice was cold and empty, little more than a rasping growl. "Perhaps I was mistaken."
"What do you want from me?" Estelle demanded.
"Nothing." Ze'ev moved past her. "Yet."
He waved his hand through the air and clenched it into a fist. She watched in stunned silence as the two males Ze'ev had killed rose from the floor. Their bodies shifted into gaunt frames. Their skin became pale. Their veins blackened. They opened their eyes and Estelle could see herself reflected in the ebony hollows.
Ze'ev left the cave, his two creatures trailing after him. Estelle's heart raced and she couldn't gain control of her panicked breaths. Ze'ev had just raised the dead. She looked over her shoulder. The male she had killed was still there, untouched by Ze'ev's terrible magic.
Maybe... she struggled to form a coherent thought. Maybe he can only animate those that he has killed. But why is he doing this? How is he doing this?
Estelle gathered up what weapons she could salvage and ran from the cave. She didn't care if she fell off the mountainside or drowned in a frigid stream. She was getting away from that place and the death that surrounded it. Estelle ran faster, her breath coming in fearful sobs.
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Mikael picked his way through a wooded portion of the mountainside. He hadn't found a good place to camp yet. If he didn't find one soon, he'd be forced to stay in the open. That idea didn't sit well with him.
He reached for the Bond within his chest and stroked it gently. Estelle didn't reply. The shadows offered him no comfort. They were still wrapped around his wings beneath the ashwood chains.
Mikael lifted his gaze to the stars. They shone brilliantly on this cold night. The moon was full, sending silvery rays streaming down. It was bright enough that he might be able to keep moving throughout the night if necessary.
He'd managed to avoid contact with the Illyrians today, although he wasn't so lucky yesterday or the day before. He'd managed to escape without killing anyone, thankfully. Every time he thought back to the two males he'd killed, his stomach churned and it was all he could do not to throw up.
He longed to be able to speak to his fathers or Estelle about the matter. His fathers would understand the guilt he felt whenever he recalled the corpses. Estelle would tell him that he'd done what he had to and he was alive because of it. Mikael kept telling himself that too, but it didn't change how he felt. He had taken two lives pointlessly.
He paused, leaning against a tree for a short break. Mikael swiped a dirty hand over his burning eyes angrily. What he wouldn't give for a stiff drink right now. If he were back home, he would've begged Calden, Celeste, and Sienna to go out to the dancing hall in Nimbus with him.
He would drink until he couldn't walk straight and Calden had to drag him out the door. He would drink until the only thing he could do when he returned to the Palace was fall into an empty sleep. Albeit, he usually didn't try to resolve his problems with alcohol, but this seemed like a good time to make an exception.
Mikael lifted his head, an unfamiliar scent reaching him. He straightened, spying a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring at him through the trees. He lowered his gaze at once, remembering what he'd read about wolves.
Don't look them in the eyes, he told himself. He backed away slowly. The wolf came closer. Mikael sniffed the air again. The wolf was alone, but there was a sour hint to its scent. Either it was sick, or it had been around other wolves that were sick.
The wolf snarled and bolted out of the trees. Mikael took off running, sliding a knife into his hand. If it's sick, I can't let it bite me, he thought. Mikael risked a glance over his shoulder. The wolf was much larger than he'd expected. It was closing in on him fast.
The wolf leaped, knocking him to the ground. Mikael grunted, losing his knife somewhere close by. The wolf's claws tore into his chest and stomach. Its jaws snapped dangerously close to his throat. Despite his better judgment, Mikael forced his hands up and grabbed either half of the wolf's jaws.
He struggled to keep the wolf from pushing down towards his neck. Pain fogged his mind. Mikael drove his knee into the wolf's stomach. It yelped and Mikael wrenched its jaws in opposite directions. He felt the bone dislocate and the wolf gave a sharp whimper. Mikael moved one hand away from the wolf and recovered his knife. He stabbed it into the creature's neck and ripped through its hide. Hot blood steamed in the cool air as it poured onto Mikael.
He rolled the animal's carcass off of himself and rose to his hands and knees. Blood dripped off his face. Mikael stared at the animal, then touched a hand to his stomach. His wounds were bleeding profusely. Thinking quickly, Mikael pulled off both of his shirts. He tore through the thin material of one and wrapped it tightly around the worst of his wounds. Mikael shrugged back into his stolen leather shirt and set to work skinning the wolf. He could use the fur for warmth.
His blood glistened on the creature's claws, catching his attention. Once Mikael had finished with the fur, he set to work removing the wolf's claws and teeth. He would use them to make weapons of some sort. His head spun as he worked. Mikael gathered up his bounty and started off. He needed shelter, and soon. He had to tend to his wounds before they worsened.