Twenty-Four:
A Quiet Road

The road was nothing more than an unpaved dirt path, trailing from one horizon to the other. Dry grass rustled dully in the breeze, lazy blades drooping beneath the heat of the sun. It was unnaturally hot. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and his thin clothes felt stifling. Even the breeze was warm, like the hot breath of some enormous, looming beast.

Far above him, there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

He didn't know where he was. It didn't look familiar in the slightest. Trees dotted the landscape on either side of the road. To his left lied nothing but an open expanse of grassland as far as he could see. To his right, the trees began to thicken until they formed woodland. Neither looked exceptionally welcoming, but the woods would provide him an opportunity to get out of the sun—something that keeping to the road in either direction hadn't promised.

He meandered towards the trees, thin shoes scuffing against the dusty road with every step. Every sharp stone and stick beneath his feet poked, too sharp, through the flimsy soles as he walked. There was nothing he could do about that, however, so he tried to put them from his mind. If anything, he ought to be focusing on who and where he was. Not his discomfort.

The trees' shadow offered a minor reprieve from the burning heat. The air still was horribly still and thick, but he couldn't feel the sun anymore. It was strange, but, for all his lack of memory, he was aware something was wrong here. He knew there should have been the sound of bugs and small animals in the sparse undergrowth. He should have been able to see and hear birds going about their business. But there was nothing.

Only utter silence.

Stagnation.

The thick expanse of trees slowly began to thin and he made his way toward a clearing, poppies and ferns wavering gently amongst the various grasses; the lack of wildlife seemed somehow more pronounced with only the foliage for company. Ruins, crumbling to loose stones and broken masonry, became visible as he stepped further into the clearing. Vines had wrapped around one of the only standing walls. Whatever had been here had long ago been erased by time.

He still didn't understand why he was here. It was so removed from everything…similar but not quite like home. Though how he had the vague remembrance of what home looked like was another thing that didn't make sense. How could he remember the layout of a town and what it looked like if he couldn't remember his own name?

Maybe you forgot on purpose.

That thought chilled him. Who would want to forget their name? Why?

"You comin' in, love?" someone called.

He whirled around, attempting to find the speaker and saw absolutely nothing. Everything looked exactly the same.

"Psst! Over 'ere," the voice said again, luring him to the remaining wall of the ruin. The way the vines had twisted around themselves looked oddly like a face. He leaned in closer. The face twisted, growing into an inquisitive frown. "You comin' in or wot?"

"Where do you lead?" he enquired, uncertain of himself. Though he was most certainly lost, he didn't really think getting even more lost was a very good idea. But maybe this…thing would lead him to something familiar.

"Search me, I'm just a door!" it laughed.

He turned back around. He could always go back to the road and see where either direction led. He didn't have to go through the door. He was free to make any choice he wanted. But curiosity pulled him back to the door. "I believe I will."

The mouth of the vines twisted into a smile before the entire face unravelled, pulling back to form a large, circular opening. In the centre was a vortex of gently swirling blue energy. He hesitated just once before stepping into it.

And was gone.

For the first time she could recall, waking up to the sound of another person's heartbeat against her ear was both wonderful and alarming. At first she thought the previous night had been a dream—that she'd given herself stress nightmares or the Crawler had played a cruel trick on her once more. And then she realized the cart was moving.

Alarmed, Victoria's eyes flew open and she scrambled into a sitting position. Rhys stared up at her with wide, nervous eyes. Victoria hardly noticed.

Reaver was breathing. Laying her hand flat against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat was strong and steady. He was alive. Disbelief and horror were fighting to overpower her joy at the discovery. This should have been impossible. Death had been perfectly clear: if no one was killed in his place, then he would not be revived. She and Jack had both come to an agreement that they couldn't save him; that he would remain dead and that was that. Oh, Jack, what have you done?

The worst part was that she was happy it had been done. Someone had died, and she was happy about it. That thought alone made her stomach twist. But the feeling wouldn't leave her. That Reaver was alive—it gave her hope things would be alright.

Rhys was speaking, but Victoria hadn't heard a single word of it. The repercussions of reviving Reaver had taken over her thoughts entirely. She attempted to drag herself back out from the depths. Blinking as though trying to bring the world back into focus, she gently shook her head. It didn't seem to work. Pressing her fingers to her eyes with one hand, she tried again. Somewhat back in reality, she managed to ask, "What?"

"We're near out of the Moors!" the girl repeated brightly. "You slept a good lot. It's almost noon yet."

"Ah," was all Victoria murmured, suspecting she'd missed far more than that. Her brain was still having a hard time keeping on track.

Twisting oddly, she glanced out the window behind her. They were crossing a bridge that looked as though it had carelessly been pieced together with water-rotted logs, unstable and only kept upright by the mercy of the unchanging current and an old, badly-leaking dam, that was struggling to keep a raging tributary from breaking through and washing it away. But the landscape didn't look so different than it previously had. There were more trees, though. Willows and alders flourishing along the banks of the river; a drastic change to the wind-tilted, stubby trees they'd seen near the Henge. And yet, despite the lush greenery, everything was grey and gloomy under a cloud-laden sky. I guess we really can't go more than a day without rain, she thought dryly, adjusting her position on the cot to get more comfortable. She knew it was illogical, but she had the horrible feeling that, if she moved, Reaver would stop breathing again.

For a brief second, she thought she saw a strange bird-like creature flapping about in the distance. It was gone when she blinked.

Nergüi and Rhys had both situated themselves on the floor, seated upon several of their stash of worn cushions. Nergüi had buried herself in a book that looked almost as old as Theresa was, the gilt edges of the tome shone dully in the watery light. Through the front of the caravan, she could see Scythe and Theresa in the driver's seat. She briefly wondered why they hadn't bothered to wake her, but wasn't about to complain. Her body still ached, but she felt better than she had lately.

Rhys tapped on her elbow. Victoria looked over to see she was holding a bottle of water out to her. Mumbling a word of thanks, she accepted it and took a sip. It seemed almost sweet to her dry mouth.

Sipping carefully at the drink, she quietly asked, "Has he woken up yet?"

Rhys's brow scrunched and her lips twisted into a frown as she thought. "Hmm." She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I haven't seen him move."

Victoria nodded. She'd been afraid of that. Death may have promised to revive him, but there was no telling what state he'd be in when he awoke. If he'd remember anything about what had happened or who he was...or if he'd be a completely different person. She was just going to have to wait and see. To leave it up to him. She just hoped her faith wasn't misguided.

Rhys hadn't noticed Victoria was only half paying attention as she continued on: "Theresa said he was injured and not to touch him, so I've been keeping watch."

She blinked, confused. "Why would you want to keep watch over sleeping people?"

"What if the injury got worse? What if you were hurt?" Rhys replied. She seemed so naively oblivious that it took a moment or so for it to get through to Victoria.

There was another thing that was confusing to her: "injured". Reaver had been dead when Theresa had had her bring him into the caravan. Dead. So why had she lied? Unless... Victoria turned towards the driver's seat with a contemplative stare. Did you know? Did you know he would survive? Why didn't you tell me?

For a brief moment the image of what would have happened if she hadn't heeded Theresa's words came to mind—Reaver waking up in an unmarked grave, if he'd woken up at all. A shudder forced its way down her spine. As annoyed as she'd been last night, she was glad she'd listened.

The bridge led them into a series of underground tunnels. Bathed in darkness, she kept a close eye on her window, attempting to look for any signs of creatures or interlopers that might interfere with their journey. She almost missed sitting up front. Being stuck here in the back made her feel helpless and useless. Like a spectator, not an active participant.

That reminds me—are you there? she mentally called, prodding about her mind.

We are not so easy to dismiss, the Crawler replied idly. Leaning against Satyr's feed crate, Nergüi flinched as though she'd been shocked and shot an inquisitive look towards Victoria.

Making a conscious effort to not let her features shift, she replied, Are you...alright? You don't sound well.

It was true. He sounded worn thin. Ragged. As much as she didn't want the Crawler possessing her, she had no idea what would happen to her if something happened to it. Would they share the same fate? Would it be possible for him to die whilst leaving her alone? It didn't seem safe to test.

We tire, was the only reply she got.

A flash of guilt swept through her. She hadn't considered that the trials were as wearing on the Crawler as they were on her. Blaze, Sol, and Stone wanted him dead and gone, and yet here he was, safely contained in the body of their current champion. She wondered how much more their challenges hurt it than her. Was it better because it didn't currently have a physical body or was it worse because their powers directly affected his spirit? She doubted he would ever tell her. Still, she decided she wouldn't pull on his power again for a while. It was almost intoxicating, knowing they could combine their powers to become even stronger, but she wasn't so sure it was worth it now. If that power came at the risk of her getting hurt or him possibly freeing himself from her body, then maybe it was safer not to use it. Lost in thought, she leaned her forehead against the window's thick, wavy glass and tried to rest.

Outside, the tunnels opened up into rolling hills. The Whitespire Mountains loomed over them, closer now than ever before; their peaks lost in the clouds. The road was poorly made and the ponds and lakes that dotted the landscape between the hills, like the splatter of an ink drop, constantly seemed to be attempting to wear away the packed dirt. She was almost surprised by how many trees she saw when she finally opened her eyes again. They were finally entering the so-called Fallen Fen—the last obstacle between them and Echo Hills. If they were lucky, they'd get there quickly. But it was at least a two day drive across the wetland. Victoria shivered. The Fen was nearly as desolate as Miremoor had been. She sent a faint prayer to the gods that it wasn't haunted.

At the first horse stop, she hopped down from the cart and informed Theresa and Scythe that she wanted to drive. They were as inscrutable as ever, but they, reluctantly it seemed, acquiesced with her request. She had spoken some with Rhys and Nergüi, but wasn't in the mood to be exceptionally sociable. And she didn't think she could stand sitting as sentinel above Reaver's unmoving body any longer. The reins felt almost soothing to her hands now.

Not that the Fen was any more welcoming from the driving seat than it had been from the back window. If anything, the further they drove, the worse it seemed to get. Slowly, the pools of water pulled away from the roadside. Sturdier trees began to crop up in thick patches, all either dead or oddly tinged with grey.

"Er...is it just my eyes," she began an hour or so after taking control of the caravan once more, "or is everything getting greyer?"

Scythe was the first to respond. "It is not only your eyes."

The entire world seemed to be taking on an oddly dull hue; the colours washed out and wan in a way that reminded her vaguely of Wraithmarsh, if mildly less gloomy. The broken bones of fences occasionally marked the edge of the road, their paint stripped and wood weathered. Every once in a while, the road dipped between large stone outcroppings and hills which always seemed to fall away into yet more water. The air heavy with dampness and something that felt an awful lot like tension. Like the entire region was holding its breath for something that might never come. Despite the weather's chill, her shirt kept sticking to her and her short hair clung to the back of her neck unpleasantly. Around them, bugs droned a constant chatter.

Every once in a while, Victoria thought she heard the distant croak of a frog.

"How far until...our next stop?" Victoria enquired with a glance at Theresa. She needed to break the silence. It was beginning to get creepy out here. She didn't have the same feeling of being watched or of the land being alive as she'd had in Thorndeep, but the Fallen Fen certainly wasn't welcoming. And she doubted it particularly wanted them there.

Theresa was slow to respond, clearly picking up on Victoria's hesitation. However, when she finally responded, she sounded as calm and serene as ever. "We will need to cross the Fen and the river Ironwash to the base of the Whitespire Mountains. We will be on the very edge of Albion. Fortunately, I believe we will acquire some assistance on the way there."

Victoria frowned. She could feel Scythe's confusion as she tried to think of what might have given Theresa that impression. "You think...Northward might help us?"

Northward Fort was the northernmost settlement still technically within Albion's borders. It had once been the southernmost outpost for the Strangers—rangers who had once protected the North from monsters and beasts best left undescribed. Upon its rediscovery fifty years or so ago, the Royal Army had taken command of the fort and repaired it. She'd received reports from them for years about the state of their growing town, but had never heard anything about any other towns in the Edgelands from them. She supposed it would be a good idea to stop for repairs and anything else they might need there, at the very least. But. She didn't like the thought of them finding out she and Reaver had been travelling together. He should be awake by then, she told herself. We can discuss how we handle it before we have to.

"I see no reason why they would not," Theresa replied, grasping hold of the bench to steady herself as they rode over a pothole. "You are their queen. Surely they will not turn you away."

"I'm less worried about them turning us away than I am what they might say at the sight of us," Victoria said, guiding Satyr carefully around a turn.

Theresa responded with nothing but a faint smile.

And then they happened upon the town. The breath seemed to rush from Victoria's lungs. Mired in a thick grey mist, most of the town was nothing but dark silhouettes. What they could see was more than enough. It had been ripped apart. Carriages and carts crushed, lying on their sides. The windows of the houses were broken—the walls smashed open like the broken shell of an egg, roofs little more than shattered timbers. A couple houses looked as if damaged by fire, but the majority were not. Vines and trees had reclaimed the landscape, wrapping the abandoned buildings in their embrace.

Quiet horror seeped into Victoria's veins. What could have done this? she wondered. The Devourer? The Temptress? Why would either of them want to destroy this place?

Do not underestimate their schemes, the Crawler mumbled distantly.

"This used to be Dunecrest," Rhys said quietly, peering out from behind them. A swing creaked, swaying forlornly from the branches of a dead tree and she jumped, reaching for Nergüi's hand.

Victoria turned her head slightly towards her, unwilling to take her eyes off the road. "What happened to it?"

"Dunno. No one knows. Before my Pa died, a caravan of us came here to trade our extras from the harvest. No one was here. And the town was destroyed. We never found any bodies, either." Despite her unease, she slowly managed to get the words out with a weak attempt at confidence.

It felt like they were driving past a mass grave; words failed her until they'd passed it—a feeling both the younger girls seemed to share. She couldn't tell if Theresa and Scythe's silence was out of respect for the dead or just as was customary for them.

Once they'd passed the town, they found themselves on a narrow road through a rocky gorge. Victoria couldn't be sure of the time; though there was still enough light to see by, the sun didn't seem to want to peek through the clouds. They drove on until they could no longer see the road and took shelter in the remains of an ancient watchtower. The sturdy walls kept out animals and the weather, but did nothing to make dinner less solemn. No one seemed eager to talk to each other. Instead, they hurried to finish their meals and settled down to rest where they could.

Despite Victoria's protests, Scythe decided to take watch for the first time since he'd joined the group. She had the frustrating feeling that he was smiling at her annoyance, but it was impossible to tell behind the numerous strips of fabric covering his face. Grumbling to herself, Victoria slipped into the caravan and curled up beside Reaver once more. The last thought she remembered having was that she hoped he'd wake up soon.

He stood in the darkness, alone and mildly concerned. Floating and falling all at once, drifting in nothingness. Suspended as much from time and the world as he was his own emotions. And the darkness spoke to him: "Come…come to me, beloved."

"Who are you?"

"Do you not know me? Will you not join me?"

He tried to step back, hand involuntarily reaching for his side as though for something that wasn't there. For what, he didn't know. But some thread of awareness was certain voices lurking in the dark were not to be trusted.

The darkness pulsed around him, shrieking in unknown words. He was consumed.

The morning dawned with a bitter chill. The sunrise had turned the fen's mist into a pastel haze of colour. Only Theresa and Scythe seemed to be interested in hurrying up and getting out on the road. Victoria lingered beside the fire, cup of warm tea in hand, with Nergüi and Rhys. The former looked as though she'd had a terrible night's sleep. Victoria could relate; her dreams had been troubled and vaguely sinister. As though something was stalking her through them. She'd woken up once to the Crawler bristling with annoyance and realized this must be it—how the Temptress was starting her attack. They'd have to be careful from now on.

It didn't help that Reaver had still not moved.

Wanting to think about anything else, Victoria fumbled in her bag and pulled out her map. Laying it over a fallen stone block, she called over to Theresa: "Show me where you think we need to go."

Theresa crouched down beside her, looking almost as if she were listening to something far off before reaching out to touch the map. "This is the quickest route through the Fen—" she traced a faint, barely visible path on the map— "it will take us through the heart of the region, but I believe it will be quicker than skirting around the edges."

"It doesn't look like we'll get to Northward tonight," she replied, tugging at her lip with her teeth.

"No. Perhaps tomorrow, instead."

She glanced around to where the others were getting ready—putting away their things and preparing the cart. Victoria frowned and whispered, "I don't like this. Something doesn't feel right."

Theresa inclined her head. "We are nearing our journey's end. The Corruption is becoming bolder with each passing hour. Soon we will no longer be able to avoid a confrontation with him or his bride."

Victoria folded the map and returned it to her bag, getting to her feet. "Then let's get this over with and make their end a decent one."

AN: Sorry for the wait! For those of you who don't know, my laptop nearly died and I nearly lost the entire series, including the rest of this story and what's been written of the next. It was...uh...an ordeal. On the plus side, I have the next couple chapters mostly editted, so the next update should be really soon, luck willing. I hope all of you are doing well!