Chapter 19 - The road of teeth

The road narrowed until the trees on either side seemed to press in, their bare branches leaning toward one another like gossiping crones. Frost crusted the roots and the shallow ditches, and the ruts in the dirt were stiff with ice. The horse’s breath plumed in slow clouds as Orlen guided the carriage through.

Eirian sat tucked between her parents in the front, her scarf pulled high over her nose. The cold gnawed at the gaps in her clothes, but it was the quiet that unsettled her. No wind. No bird calls. Not even the distant crack of branches under a squirrel’s weight.

They weren’t alone.

Up ahead, three other wagons moved along the road. The first belonged to a merchant—Marrek, he’d called himself—a barrel of a man with a trimmed beard and a voice that carried. His wagon’s sides were painted in bright colors that looked strange in the muted winter woods. Two guards and a wizard rode ahead of him, the three of them in worn leathers and fur-trimmed cloaks.

Behind him came a small family with two children, their faces pale and pinched from the cold. They were riding a cart piled with sacks and bundles that looked hastily packed. The father had the reins, but his eyes kept darting to the tree line.

They had met last night preparing their camp to spend their night at the side of the road, everyone was trying to escape from this lands, but the road was too narrow for anyone to pass without trouble, so they had all fallen into this reluctant procession.

Orlen kept glancing at the trees, his jaw tight. “We should’ve seen birds by now.”

Sera leaned forward from the back of the carriage, her voice low. “Or even heard them. This silence isn’t right.”

Eirian followed their gaze to the trunks that crowded the road. Some bore scars—long gouges in the bark, deeper than any axe could make. Others had dark streaks running down from the cuts, as though the wood itself had bled.

Her stomach knotted. “What could do that?”

Orlen didn’t answer.

A mile later, Sera’s eyes caught on something at the roadside—a milepost carved with the usual distance marks… and streaked with blackened scorch marks. The wood was splintered, as if something had slammed into it hard enough to dent the post itself.

“Those marks are recent,” Orlen muttered. He leaned from the driver’s seat, scanning the ground. “No snow on the breaks. It happened this week.”

Eirian shifted in her seat. The thrum at the base of her skull—Askariel’s restless stirring—had been faint since the rat debacle, but it pulsed a little stronger now, like he was sniffing the air.

*Closer…* The word slithered through her mind, more sensation than sound.

She shook her head, tightening her scarf. “It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t.

A half hour later, the road dipped into a hollow where frost pooled like spilled milk. Marrek’s wagon slowed as one of his guards rode ahead, scanning the slope. The man’s eyes swept left and right before he raised a hand to signal all clear.

But Orlen didn’t move. His fingers were still on the reins, but his whole body had gone rigid.

“Do you hear that?” he asked quietly.

Eirian strained to listen. At first there was nothing—just the muffled creak of wood and leather, the occasional snort of the horse. Then… something else.

It was like the crunch of snow being dragged.

Sera’s hand went to the hilt of her blade.

Up ahead, Marrek’s rear guard glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed.

Eirian’s eyes flicked to the treeline. Between the trunks, she thought she saw movement—a flicker of pale shape, low to the ground, there and gone before she could be sure.

Her pulse quickened.

One of the children in the wagon ahead began to whine, “Papa, I’m cold,” just loud enough to break the moment. The father hushed her, but the sound carried strangely in the air, too loud, as if the trees were leaning closer to listen.

The drag-crunch stopped.

Eirian didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until a bird shrieked from somewhere behind them.

Only it wasn’t a bird.

The sound was too deep, too wet, like a scream forced through a throat full of blood.

Every horse in the line went tense, ears flat, whites showing. Marrek’s lead guard wheeled his horse around, scanning the woods, his hand going for his spear.

Eirian’s thrum in her skull became a steady pound. Askariel’s voice slid into her mind, warm and almost giddy. *They’re here. You’ll need me.*

“No,” she whispered.

Sera glanced at her sharply. “What?”

She shook her head, but her hands had gone cold despite her gloves.

Up ahead, the merchant raised his voice. “Keep moving! Stay close!”

The guards fanned out slightly, their eyes sweeping the dark undergrowth. The road bent sharply ahead, and the hollow seemed to deepen, the shadows thickening until the world felt narrower, the air heavier.

The dragging sound began again. Louder now. Closer.

Suddenly, the dragging stopped.

For a heartbeat, the road was so quiet Eirian could hear the tiny creak of the carriage’s axles under its own weight. Even the horse’s breath came slow, steam curling from its nostrils and vanishing in the cold.

Then something moved in the trees to their left—too fast, too low. A blur of pale hide between two trunks, there and gone again.

The lead guard swore under his breath. “Shadows on the left!” He wheeled his horse toward the movement, spear coming down into a ready angle.

Another flicker, this time to the right. A branch sagged and rebounded as if something heavy had passed.

Eirian twisted in her seat, trying to track both sides at once. The pounding in her skull was harder now, each pulse like a fist on bone. Askariel’s voice slid into her ear, amused and warm:

*Your hands are shaking. You already know you’ll need me.*

She clenched her fists. “I won’t.”

He chuckled.

*You will, just give up and surrender your body to me.*

A sharp crack tore the air—splintering wood, then a choked gasp. The lead guard’s horse screamed, rearing. Something had hit him—hard enough to fling him sideways from the saddle.

He hit the ground with a thud and a grunt. His spear rolled into the frost.

And then the thing that had hit him stepped into the open.

It was the height of a man but wrong in every proportion—legs too long, spine too arched, skin the color of bone. Its eyes were round, milk-pale, and too many. Its mouth—

The mouth was the worst. It gaped wide enough to split the head almost in half, lined with teeth that jutted in uneven rows like broken glass.

It loped, fast and fluid, claws digging into the frozen dirt as if it were soft clay.

The lead guard barely had time to draw his sword before it was on him.

The sound it made as it hit him was a wet crunch. His legs kicked once, twice, then stilled.

The scream that followed wasn’t his—it came from the wagon with the children. One of the children shrieked, clamping her hands over her ears as the creature raised its head, blood running down its chin.

The second guard bellowed, urging his horse forward. His spear rammed into the thing’s side—and stuck. It didn’t flinch. Instead, it turned its head, biting the shaft in half with a snap of its jaws.

The guard didn’t wait to see more. He yanked his horse back, circling toward Marrek’s wagon.

Then the forest around them came alive.

Shadows poured between the trees—three, four, five more shapes, each moving with the same bone-deep wrongness. The sound of claws on hard ground was everywhere now, too fast to count.

“Go!” Orlen snapped, snapping the reins hard. The horse lunged forward, the carriage wheels jolting over frozen ruts.

The merchant’s wagon ahead picked up speed, its bright paint a blur in the gloom. The family with the children tried to keep pace, but their cart was heavy, and the father’s hands were white-knuckled on the reins.

Eirian’s eyes locked on the nearest shape in the trees. She could see its thread now—green and twisted, pulsing faintly in her mind’s sight. It was close enough to pull.

*Yes,* Askariel whispered, the word stretching in her skull. *Take it. Show me how you kill them, how they suffer.*

She hesitated—and in that hesitation, the creature leapt.

It landed on the back of the children’s cart. The mother screamed, trying to swat at it with a bundle, but the thing ignored her and went for the children.

Eirian’s magic flared without thought. Threads lit the air, and she caught the creature’s strand, yanking hard.

It froze mid-lunge, claws inches from the nearest child’s face. But the thread… it wasn’t only the creature’s. Another strand, human, was tangled through it. Her grip crushed both.

The father let out a strangled gasp, clutching his throat.

“No!” Eirian released instantly. The man dropped forward, coughing, as the creature shook itself free.

Sera was already moving. She leapt from their carriage, blade flashing. The first slash severed the thing’s forelimb; the second took its head. It fell twitching to the road, ichor steaming in the cold air.

Another burst from the trees ahead, jaws wide—only to meet a wall of ice. An unknown man was standing on the edge of their cart, flung a sphere of ice that exploded against its chest. The air rippled with the ice, and the sight of the creature’s corpse was enough to make Eirian gag.

Marrek’s voice bellowed from ahead. “The road bends left—keep moving!”

They thundered forward, carts rattling. Behind them, more shapes burst from the trees, snapping at the wheels. One claw raked along the back of Eirian’s seat, splintering wood.

Orlen swung his sword one-handed, catching it across the snout. The thing reeled back, shrieking.

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But they weren’t done. She could see more movement—shadows pacing them through the trees, waiting for the next chance to strike.

And the pounding in her skull hadn’t stopped. If anything, it was getting faster, matching the rhythm of the horse’s hooves.

Askariel’s voice was a purr now. *You’re too slow, girl. Too scared. Let me drive and you will see how I make them suffer.*

She gritted her teeth, hands trembling on her lap. “Leave me alone.”

*Oh,* he said softly, *you know that if you want to be free, you need to give me a new body.*

The road narrowed again, curving sharply left around a bulge of rock. The merchant’s wagon took the turn too fast.

Eirian saw it before it happened—the front wheel striking a frost-hidden rut, the whole frame lurching sideways. The right wheel lifted, then slammed down with a crack of wood.

The cart tipped.

Barrels and sacks tumbled across the road, one smashing open to spill grain into the frost. Marrek swore, yanking at the reins as his horses skittered in panic. The wagon blocked half the road, the family with the children hard behind him, Eirian’s own carriage almost on top of them.

“Brake!” Orlen hauled on the reins, the horse rearing. The cart jerked to a stop, wood groaning. Sera nearly pitched forward off the bench.

That was all the creatures needed.

One came from the treeline on the right, low and fast. It hit the children’s cart hard enough to spin it sideways. Another leapt onto the overturned barrels, claws scrabbling for purchase.

“Clear the road!” Marrek bellowed, scrambling to shove his own cargo out of the way. His surviving guard swung a short sword wildly, trying to keep the things back, but there were too many angles.

Eirian’s vision flickered with threads—green, thick, pulsing—and a dozen thinner strands from the panicked humans around her. Her heart pounded.

If she pulled now, she could freeze two, maybe three. But the human threads tangled close, and she couldn’t trust herself after what had happened to the children’s father.

*You won’t save them all,* Askariel whispered. *So choose who dies.*

Her hands clenched against her knees.

One of the creatures lunged for Marrek’s guard, jaws wide. She pulled—hard—snapping the thread taut. The thing froze mid-air, a shudder running through its limbs. The guard took his chance, driving steel through its skull.

The recoil slammed into her. Her breath hitched, nose bleeding hot. She staggered in her seat, barely keeping hold on the others.

And then the choice was ripped from her.

Two more burst from the trees on the left, going not for the wagons but the horses. One sank its teeth into the merchant’s lead animal’s throat. The horse screamed, high and terrible, as the creature tore it down. The cart tilted, spilling Marrek to the ground.

The second horse bolted, dragging the broken harness.

The merchant scrambled to his knees—too slow. The creature’s claws punched through his back. His scream cut short as its mouth closed over his head.

Sera shouted something, but the roar of the creatures and the shouts of the survivors drowned her out.

Orlen leapt from the bench, sword drawn. “Hold them here!” he barked. Then he was moving, hacking at the nearest beast to keep it off the twins’ wagon.

The wizard vaulted from Eirian’s cart to Marrek’s, ice flowers blooming from his hands. He hurled ice into the tree line, driving two shadows back. The snow hissed where it opened a path for his spells.

But ice alone wasn’t enough. The beasts didn’t fear pain—not in the way they should. The smell of deceased only seemed to rile them more.

One lunged at the wizard, and he barely dodged, rolling across the churned road. Its claws raked deep furrows into the boards where he’d stood.

Eirian’s hands trembled. She could pull again. She should. But every thread she touched now seemed slicker, harder to hold—Askariel’s influence or her own hesitation, she didn’t know.

*Let me,* he whispered, silk over steel. *I won’t miss.*

“No.”

He laughed.

The children screamed. Their father swung a woodcutting axe, barely keeping one of the creatures at bay, but his footing was slipping in the churned frost. The mother held the children tight, her eyes locked on the thing stalking toward them from the other side.

Eirian’s choice crystallized. If she didn’t act, they’d die before anyone reached them. If she did act, she risked taking one of them down with the beast.

She pulled.

The threads snapped tight. Both creatures froze—momentum arrested mid-step. But the strain was worse this time, like holding two boulders on ropes of twine. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision tunneling.

Orlen saw his opening, cutting one down in a single swing, then pivoting to gut the other.

The recoil slammed into Eirian like a wave. Her grip shattered. The threads whipped away, and she collapsed against the bench, the world spinning.

She barely registered the survivors scrambling to right the children’s cart, or the wizard helping Marrek’s lone guard drag the merchant’s body to the side.

A shape loomed above her—Sera, face pale under the smear of blood across her cheek. “Stay with me, Eirian. Just breathe.”

But the pounding in her head was so loud it drowned the words.

Somewhere deep inside, Askariel purred. *That felt good, didn’t it?*

The moment the last beast fell, Orlen shouted, “Move! Now!”

No one argued.

Marrek’s surviving guard yanked the merchant’s horse free of the harness, tossing aside the splintered traces. The animal’s eyes rolled white, foam on its lips, but it obeyed the pull on the reins.

The children’s father was already lashing their cart back into line with the road. His hands shook so badly the rope knots were sloppy, but they would hold for now.

Orlen vaulted back onto Eirian’s bench, grabbing the reins. “Hold tight!”

The horse surged forward, the carriage wheels rattling over churned frost and broken barrels. Behind them, the wizard leapt onto the step, using the carriage’s motion to throw a wall of ice into the treeline.

It didn’t stop the shadows from following.

Through the gaps between trunks, Eirian could see them—pale hides flickering between dark branches, matching their pace without effort. Their glassy eyes caught every glint of light, and she realized with a cold twist in her gut that they weren’t chasing.

They were herding.

“Faster,” Sera said, eyes locked ahead. “Town’s lights—half a mile, maybe less.”

The horse was already at a near-gallop, foam spraying from its bit.

The road was rougher here—roots lifting the dirt, frost heaving the ruts. Every jolt rattled Eirian’s teeth. Her head pounded in rhythm with the hooves, and the copper taste of blood lingered at the back of her tongue.

The pounding in her skull wasn’t only hers.

*They’re not after all of you,* Askariel said, his voice unhurried, amused. *Only the one they can smell.*

She didn’t ask who. She already knew.

A flash to the left—one of the creatures broke from cover, sprinting parallel. Then another on the right. The pair darted in and out, each time closing the gap by a stride.

The wizard swore and hurled an ice spell at the left-side runner. It dodged without breaking pace, the ice licking its flank but leaving no sign of pain.

The right-side one lunged. Orlen swerved, the carriage lurching onto two wheels before slamming back down. The creature’s claws raked the rear panel, splintering wood, missing Sera’s leg by inches.

Two more burst from the trees ahead, blocking the road entirely.

“Hold on!” Orlen didn’t slow. He leaned forward, voice low to the horse. At the last second, he jerked the reins right, sending the cart skidding along the edge of the ditch. Frost sprayed up in a glittering arc as they passed close enough to smell the creatures’ breath—rot and iron.

The children’s cart wasn’t so lucky. The father tried to follow their path, but one wheel caught on a root. The whole wagon tipped, spilling sacks and one of the children into the road.

The mother’s scream split the air. She scrambled down, dragging the girl into her arms, but the shadows were already moving in.

Eirian didn’t think—she pulled.

The green threads of the nearest two creatures snapped tight. The force slammed into her chest like a punch, but they froze mid-leap, muscles straining against invisible bonds.

“Go!” she shouted, her voice hoarse.

The children’s father didn’t hesitate. He hauled his wife and daughter back onto the cart, the boy clinging to the side. The horse bolted forward, wheels bouncing hard enough to throw the rest of their supplies into the ditch.

Eirian released the threads. Both creatures hit the dirt, rolling to their feet with jerks too fast for human eyes. They howled and came on again.

And then the town was there—walls of heavy timber, torches flaring along the battlements.

“Open the gate!” Orlen roared.

The guards atop the wall shouted back, confusion in their voices, but one began cranking the winch. The gap was narrow, the portcullis rising slow.

Behind them, the sound of claws on dirt was deafening. Eirian didn’t dare look back.

The carriage shot through the gap, the children’s wagon hard on their heels. The last creature lunged for the open space—only to meet the heavy slam of the portcullis dropping. The iron spikes bit into its shoulder, pinning it briefly before it tore free and vanished into the trees.

Silence crashed down, broken only by the panting of horses and the shouts of guards.

Eirian’s vision swam. Her hands were still clenched tight in her lap, nails biting her palms. Her breath came too fast, each inhale hitching like she couldn’t get enough air.

A warm trickle slid from her nose to her lip.

Sera’s hand landed on her shoulder. “It’s over. We’re safe.”

But Eirian wasn’t looking at the gate. She was looking at the green threads still faintly visible in the street beyond, threads that trailed out into the dark like fishing lines into deep water.

The creatures hadn’t gone.

They were waiting.

The moment the gate thudded shut, the town’s noise folded in around them—voices, footsteps, the clatter of a blacksmith’s hammer somewhere deeper inside. Torches lined the main street, their light spilling over cobblestones and half-timbered houses, smoke curling into the cold night.

A cluster of guards met them at the gate. The man in front—broad-shouldered, face cut with years of scars—looked first at Orlen, then at the splintered carts and pale faces behind him.

“What in the gods’ teeth happened out there?”

Orlen didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Creatures in the woods, they are hunting in packs, we were lucky enough to encounter them and they were on us from the hollow all the way here.”

The guard’s jaw tightened. “How many?”

“Too many to count.”

The man swore under his breath, then gestured sharply to the others. “Get these people inside the Lantern Hall. Get those beasts seen to—both of them are near foundering.”

Stablehands ran forward to take the reins. Eirian slid from the bench, legs trembling. Her scarf felt too tight, her coat too heavy. She wanted to sit, to close her eyes and stop the pounding in her skull, but the crowd’s movement swept her along.

The children’s family followed close, the father carrying his daughter, the mother clutching the boy’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white. The wizard brought up the rear, his jaw set in that hard way that meant he was replaying every moment of the fight.

They were ushered through a wide set of doors into a hall lit by hanging lanterns. Long tables filled the space, most already occupied by townsfolk murmuring over bowls of soup. A fire roared in the hearth, and the sudden heat made Eirian’s skin prickle.

Sera guided her toward a bench along the wall. “Sit. I’ll get you water.”

Eirian obeyed, pressing her palms together in her lap. The green threads still lingered faintly at the edge of her sight, stretching out through the walls toward the forest. Each pulse felt like it tugged something inside her chest.

She thought they might fade. They didn’t.

*They can smell it,* Askariel murmured, lazy and satisfied. *The threads. The burn. You think those beasts will give up now?*

“They’re trapped outside the gate.”

*For now.*

The wooden bench beneath her felt unsteady. She closed her eyes, but behind the darkness, the threads burned brighter.

Sera returned, pressing a cup of water into her hands. “Drink, Eiri.”

Eirian did, though her throat barely worked around the swallow. “They’re still out there,” she said quietly.

Orlen, standing nearby and speaking with one of the guards, caught the words and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can… still see them.” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “The threads haven’t gone.”

His frown deepened. “Could be nothing. Or it means they’re waiting.”

The children’s father came over, his voice low. “I heard the guards talking. They’ve had attacks before—travelers on the road, hunters who didn’t come back. But never this close. If what you’re saying is true…” He glanced toward the door. “We shouldn’t stay long.”

Sera shook her head. “We’re in no shape to move tonight. And in the dark? They’d pick us off before we hit the next mile marker.”

They lapsed into silence, each watching the door as if the beasts might force it open.

The guard captain returned, his expression grim. “You can rest here for the night. After that… the council will decide if you stay. The roads are worse than we thought. Until we’re sure the pack has moved on, no one leaves the gate.”

When he left, Orlen’s hand settled lightly on her shoulder. “We keep a low profile. No talk of magic. No pulling threads unless it’s life or death.”

Her throat was dry. “If they attack—”

“We’ll deal with it when it comes.” His tone made it sound like an order.

But lying awake on the cot they gave her hours later, listening to the murmur of voices in the hall, she could feel the green threads in the dark—pulsing, waiting, patient.

And somewhere out beyond the walls, in the black line of the trees, something pulsed back.