XIII

  The Nightmare Begins

  Darkness crept up on the Northern mountaintops.

  Iron rings threaded through Rowan’s staff jangled but the screeching of the birds overhead drowned out their song. Though he called them birds, they were more monster than beast. The white stalker’s body was one streamlined to perfection. Against the dreary backdrop of Everwinter, they were a thumb’s width away from invisible.

  Rowan crested a ridge and climbed onto a basin—the highest of several flatland shelves scattered across the mountain’s face. Each interim level broke the climb into distinct stages, which hosted their own ecosystems of beasts. But this ecosystem was special.

  A herald had spawned amongst the creatures.

  There was nothing else the vast quantity of energy pouring down the slope could be. Strangely enough, however, the energy was thinning as if it was escaping into the air.

  The basin came wholly into view. White Stalkers crowded the sky and flew like carrion around a corpse…because that’s what they were doing.

  A black-shelled two-headed turtle the size of a house had its innards scattered all over. Bare feet poked out from the shell of the beast.

  Rowan studied the spectacle for some time, unsure if what he was seeing was correct. The shell of the tortoise cracked from within. What exited first was black and wild hair covered in gore. Then came thighs the size of tree trunks. Rowan glanced to the side, mindful of the fact that whoever it was wasn’t wearing any pants. The honey-skinned disciple pulled himself free from the carcass, putting his scar-ridden chest on full display. To Rowan’s joy, the boy was wearing a dance belt. The material was animal in nature and the finish made it look like a hasty side-job.

  The brute of a man turned around, blood dripping down the side of his mouth.

  [Herald of the Northern Mountain. Nightmare - lvl. 18]

  Pupils widened. ‘He killed a herald? At level 18?’

  Killing a herald this early in the test meant they would be weaker, sure. But they should still be around level twenty-five with a rare class and title to buff them…

  The boy rose to his full height, which was a staggering seven feet or more. Air condensed around him like a haze and warped, the ends extending towards Rowan.

  Rowan quickly raised his hands. “I’m of no threat, Mister.”

  Spiritual pressure honed to a point so sharp it could cut.

  Brows set. “Don’t do this.”

  The waves of pressure froze. White stalkers still circled and winds still shot past but their cries were silent. A thickening veil of dark reached further inward from the east and layered half of the basin, swallowing the wild boy. From within the dark, multiple sets of eyes a shade of purple stared Rowan down. Though they were not of a natural shade, they dissected him like any predator would.

  Shadows crept forward. Rowan didn’t step back. Not because showing weakness was fatal—but because he truly wasn’t afraid of the disciple opposite him.

  The boy may have killed a herald, but Rowan was no pushover. He’d spent fifty years in the temples, classless, making sure of that. His could-be opponent must’ve sensed this too, for their stance relaxed.

  ‘Thank Lady Guanyin.’ There was no need to put down a child today.

  As the thought finished, a smile crept up the beastly boy’s face.

  Between the realisation and the attack was perhaps a tenth of a second. Ground cracked, debris flew, power thrummed through the air, its beating striking white stalkers out of the air.

  Rowan controlled his breathing. His hand thrust out, forming the warding mudra.

  ‘Second Circle Guanyin Bodhisattva.’

  Golden light shot from inside him and encased him in a radiant shell. Talons smashed into the barrier. His shield rang like struck glass. Air folded in on itself, then unwrapped and rippled outward, sweeping frost and snow from the slopes.

  Rowan eyed the cultivator’s hands. The nails were long and sharp and pulsed with an energy Rowan didn’t recognise. Blue fur grew from the hands up the arm.

  “You,” Rowan said, “you’re Gaje, aren’t you? Of the Black Fang Cult.”

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  Monk Gyatso had told him of the boy’s affliction. It was a miracle he’d even gotten this far, which was Rowan didn’t strike out immediately. “Our clans are not on bad terms, child, so I can yet overlook this. Desist. Or you’ll get hurt.”

  Glass shattered. The crack in the barrier spread like wildfire.

  Rowan frowned. ‘Middle stage Adepts have failed to pierce my Second Circle. Is he even human?’

  His palm hit Gaje square in the chest before his barrier crumpled completely and sent the beast of a disciple flying. Rowan glanced at his hand, which was trembling from the shock.

  ‘You cannot afford to hold back.’

  He’d have to apologise to Master for breaking his vow so soon but that was a problem for later.

  “Boy,” he called. “Let me teach you to have respect for your elders.”

  As he spoke, the darkness fully encased the basin. A golden, three-tiered pagoda fell over him. He held a mudra over his heart and imagined the screams of the damned. Holding it close in his mind, he channelled his art.

  ‘Zero Mind: Hell Circle.’

  It was a common misconception that all monk arts were peaceful and their gods loving. Gods were two-faced. Made of light and darkness. Buddha with one thought, a devil with the other.

  The entrance to the ground floor opened, and souls lost to the cycle of rebirth poured through. Rowan quivered. While most souls strengthened him, others converged in his staff. The iron rings jangled ferociously and hungered for death—and not that of the physical body.

  Thick shadows closed in from all sides, swallowing both the moonlight and the silhouettes of the white stalkers.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” Rowan whispered to the dark. “This is not a regular strike, so heed my warning:” his staff raised. “Desist, or be undone.”

  The shadows stilled for a careful moment.

  Then the darkness inched back, returning the white stalkers overhead to view.

  Gaje was nowhere to be seen. Rowan didn’t sense him either.

  With a sigh, Rowan turned to go. He’d keep the pagoda active until he reached the bottom of the mountain. It paid to be careful.

  An explosion of fire went off in his chest, jerking his thoughts to a stop. Rowan glanced down. The tree trunk of an arm was so deeply wedged into his chest that he couldn’t see the hand. His soul ripped out of his body as the hand pulled back. The pagoda vanished and Rowan stumbled forwards. Reflex allowed him to catch his balance, the sensations in his body still working despite…it took all his effort to look up.

  Darkness twisted around Gaje like squirming snakes. The boy was holding Rowan’s heart. His mouth opened wide and took a chunk out of the organ. The chewing sounds quaked through the hole in Rowan’s chest into his ribs, rattled his head. Finally, he could stand no longer and sagged to his knees. The world was spinning. Yet he couldn’t wrench his eyes away.

  Gaje was…frowning. He spit out the pieces of pink flesh. “Disgusting.”

  Then the world went dark.

  The connection between me and my two chicks pulsed.

  “Hold,” I said.

  Judith, Ray, the finally conscious Jake, and I crouched behind a rock.

  The white sheet surrounding us was all-encompassing and an unsettling quiet hung over the plane. It was the quiet prey experienced when a predator was on their heels.

  Predator made me think of a hunter. Hunters reminded me of blood.

  The stinging smell of iron still clung to my hands. I held them up between the falling snow flakes. In his final moments, the boy’s face looked like he’d seen a ghost. His fear had washed over me…and scared me. But what disturbed me more was that my hands didn’t tremble as my blade carved across his throat. Instead, I felt more in control of my muscles than I’d ever had before.

  ‘Communion,’ my thoughts whispered.

  Every corpse heap in my garden was evidence of my heritage. The slaughter and absorption of beasts.

  ‘And what of it?’

  Mortals and cultivators alike slayed beasts in droves each day. What made that so different from what I was doing? Besides, had the boy not confessed he was hunting me for personal gain?

  My nails dug into my palm. ‘Don’t grow soft on me, Ashe.’

  I accepted the possibility of killing the moment I set foot in this place. Mother had made sure of that.

  My bond pulsed once.

  “We’re clear,” I said.

  So we proceeded forwards.

  “If our luck holds up,” Ray said and glanced at me, “we might make it to the range sooner.”

  Last night, the boy’s companion had trapped the trio in the cave in the same manner the prowlers had done. I only made it back in time because he decided to wait for his mate to return before attacking.

  The wolf-like disciple was quick so he escaped. But since then, Ray implicitly inquired about my opinion on matters.

  “We might,” Judith said. “But Jake needs rest.”

  She was hovering beside the archer in case he collapsed again.

  “I’m fine,” Jake said.

  The blond boy’s cheeks were sullen though. He’d also been heaving for the last half an hour. Judith had already given him her best recovery pill, so he must’ve damaged a vital organ that the restoration couldn’t get to. Only time and rest would heal him. Or higher grade medicine.

  My head turned to the front. Fog hid the mountain range, leaving even its shadow to the imagination. We were far from our goal if the winds picked up.

  “Let’s move,” Ray said.

  My bond pulsed twice.

  Snow kicked up before I sound a warning, and I barely caught a blur of pale fur shooting for Jake.

  Our archer stumbled backwards and fell over. Judith broke their fall, but now her hands were full.

  I swiped my arm so the cinderwing chick dove and barrelled into the monster headed for her throat.

  It was a feline of some kind.

  Another dashed at me from the rear. Another swipe brought the second chick into the fray, once more cutting off the predators’s path.

  Ray helped Judith up, which gave her enough room to hoist her staff. Blood and guts flew as sword essence penetrated the flank of the beast closest to her.

  I took a moment to breathe. ‘I didn’t notice them until it was too late.’

  The chicks had excellent sight up in the air. But not if the land was shrouded in fog.

  Measured steps carried me towards Ray. I turned my back to the spearman, who hauled Jake to his feet.

  A dozen icy orbs flashed in the fog.

  The disoriented archer pulled his bow. Judith cracked her neck.

  “Return,” I whispered and drew a portal.

  Both chicks vanished inside. I steepled my hand together. With a flex of the mind, the portal widened.

  Blazing, golden talons gripped into the crust of the earth, dragging the cinderwing harpy out. Red-orange plumage covered the creature’s head and wings, which tapered off into a flame pattern on her back. The yellow cere of her hooked beak gleamed in the light from the portal.

  She stalked forwards, glaring into the fog hiding our company as if the shroud was nonexistent. A string of calm passed through our connection.

  I raised my hand, and the harpy’s wings rose with it.