‘At first, the Forest of Sorrows seemed no different from the other woods of the world – which is to say, a stretch of old trees, being slowly choked by a pale unwelcome lover. In the years following daysdeath, most of the green places of the empire had withered, starved of the sun that had once gifted them life. But that wasn’t to say nothing grew in Elidaen any more. There’s no end of successors waiting for old monarchs to fall, and in the breach left by those towering giants in their robes of whispering green, a new king had risen.
‘Fungus.
‘Luminous flowers of maryswort. Long, strangling tendrils of asphixia. Bloated pustules of beggarbelly and jagged, crawling runs of shadespine. These were the new sovereigns of the forest, the grand lords of decay, building castles on the rotting tombs of the kings who’d come before. Mushroom and toadstool, mouldweave and whitespore, running thick across the ground or flowering on the still-standing corpses, so thick you could barely see the shape of the tree beneath.
‘“Ishaedh,” Saoirse spat, stalking the thin and muddy road.
‘“Eh?”
‘The slayer glanced my way, shook her head. “’Tis what we name it, Silversaint. Ishaedh. The Blight. Twisting and ruining all that was once green and good.”
‘I glanced around, shrugged. “They’re just mushrooms, girl.”
‘The slayer scowled. “Keep calling me girl and you’re going to wake one morn with yer lollies in yer mouth, de León, I swear it.”
‘“Every contortionist’s dream,” Bellamy smiled, stomping along in the chill.
‘“Ye’ve no ken what ye speak of,” the slayer said. “And still ye speak.”
‘“That’s one of my most endearing qualit—”
‘My throat seized tight as bright red pain lanced through my belly. I staggered to a halt, hissing as it spread through my veins like fire.
‘“Gabe?” Chloe asked. “Are you aright?”
‘Fumbling in my greatcoat pocket, I took a long pull of my last bottle of vodka, finishing off the lot. Tossing the empty, I drew a deep breath and nodded. “Never better.”
‘It was a lie, of course. It’d been almost two days since I’d smoked, and the holdout phial in my boot was a quarter empty now. My skin crawled with invisible lice, and I was sweating in the brittle chill. But I couldn’t risk another smoke yet – I’d no idea how long we’d be marching through this accursed wood, nor when I might find more leech blood.
‘Vampires had been a blight on my existence as long as I could remember. But now that I needed one, we hadn’t seen a single wretched since that attack at Winfael.
‘It was almost like someone up there hated me.
‘“Great fucking Redeemer …”
‘Chloe pursed her lips. “Blasphemy, Dior.”
‘“No,” the boy whispered. “Look.”
‘Ahead of us, I saw a pale shape moving across the path. At first, I thought I might be dreaming awake – that the thirst was throwing phantoms on my eyes. But no, there it was, moving through growths of ’stools and whitespore, proud as a lord.
‘A stag.
‘The weather was still warm enough down in Sūdhaem for medium-size game, and beasts like rabbits and foxes lingered in the north. But I’d not seen an animal this magnificent in years. He stood as tall as I, sharp muscles and tan hide, a grand crown of antlers on his brow. Bellamy immediately had his crossbow out, the rest of us falling still as stones. Thirsty as I was, the thought of cooked venison almost banished my agony entirely.
‘The soothsinger took careful aim. I held my breath. His crossbow sang, and the quarrel flew true, striking the beast right in his throat.
‘“Ha!” Bellamy cried. “Did you see that?”
‘“The soothsinger fell silent as the stag swayed on its feet, turning to look at us. And at the sight of it, he almost dropped his bow. “Great fucking Redeemer.”
‘“Blasphemy, Bellamy …” Chloe whispered.
‘The left side of the beast’s body was covered in pale growths, pustules linked by a lattice of cobwebs. Its left eye bulged from its socket, bloated with what might have been blood. The stag shivered, gore spilling from the quarrel in its neck. Rearing up on its hind legs, it threw back its head and screamed. But as its mouth opened wider, wider, it split apart entirely, chin and jaw and Holy God, even its throat unfurling like the petals of some awful flower to form a horrid, tooth-filled maw. And its scream …
‘Its scream was a little girl’s. A human girl’s.
‘I drew Ashdrinker, bellowing over that godless howl. “Shoot it again!”
‘The soothsinger fired – a crack shot, the arrow thunking into that bloated eye and bursting it like a blister. But the beast only lowered its head and charged, crown of antlers scything towards us. Saoirse lifted Kindness and Jezebel reared up in horror and Rafa and Chloe both tumbled from her saddle. I roared warning as the beast came on, that awful screaming filling my ears. I’d faced the horrors of the dark before, but nothing of this thing’s ilk, and in truth, I’d no idea how to kill it. But in a blood-red flash, a blur of fang and claw flew out of the rotten scrub like a spear, up onto the charging stag’s back.
‘Phoebe’s weight made the beast stumble, the stag screaming louder as the shelion’s fangs sank into the base of its skull. The beast veered sideways, crashing into a twisted oak, that little girl’s scream rising in pitch as Phoebe bit harder, shaking, shaking, as she bore down her prey, and with a final twist of her head, snapped the stag’s neck clean. The thing thrashed a moment more, legs kicking feebly as it gargled its end.
‘And then, it lay still.
‘Phoebe shook her head, the shelion coughing and trying to spit, as if the beast’s very blood tasted foul. Chloe picked herself up, shaken, eyes on the fallen horror.
‘“Great fucking Redeemer.”
‘“Blasphemy,” we all chorused.
‘We stood around the fallen stag, silent and horrified. Up close, I saw the growths covered much of its body – its sable hide was actually more like moss. Those pustules spread across its skin, and it smelled like mouldering leaves, threaded with a deeper stink, not unlike the wretched. A perfume of death and rot.
‘“Ishaedh,” Saoirse murmured. “The Blight.”
‘“You’ve seen this before?” I asked, holding my cramping gut.
‘In my dreams,” the slayer replied, glancing about. “Nae so bad down here. But up in the northern weald, near the Highlands and in the old forests o’ the world, the Blight holds grim sway. Fiáin and fae, bough and branch, all corrupted. And e’er it grows.”
‘“And this Blight … it started with daysdeath?”
‘She looked at me sidelong. “Why d’ye care, Silversaint?”
‘“Why do you?”
‘“Because I’m bound to. By blood and breath, Mothers and Moons.”
‘I nodded, understanding at last why this heathen slayer was dragging her arse about with a bunch of One Faithers and a supposed descendant of the Redeemer himself.