Kol's Trap

I stepped back.

“What do you think I’m going to do?” I asked. “Kill Amarok and ask for a wish?”

Kol’s smile widened. “Of course not. You’re not foolish enough to believe in childish tales.”

I didn’t bother hiding my scowl.

“Besides,” he went on, “you can hardly kill a goat, Irrythik. There’s no way YOU can kill Amarok.”

I already knew that

So why was my heart racing?

“Come on,” Kol continued lightly. “We’ll get you warmed up and continue the ritual. By tomorrow, this will feel like a bad dream.”

He stepped toward me.

I stepped back.

He stopped.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” his voice was still gentle, still wrong.

Because of that look you’re giving.

Because you’re stronger than me and no one would hear me scream.

Because I’m afraid.

But I said none of that.

Instead, I forced a grin, “Speaking of hunting… I’m hungry. Can we catch something before we go?”

His smile froze.

“I suppose,” he said after a beat. “There are wild hogs a few miles north. I could finally teach you how to skin the damn bastards.”

Before I could speak, a low, distant rumble rolled through the trees.

Kol’s expression hardened. “Get behind me.”

But I didn’t move.

His shoulders tightened. A slight adjust­ment in his stance, like someone preparing for a fight. Standing so close, I caught the scent of old pine resin and dried blood clinging to his furs—heavy enough to crush a lesser man’s shoulders.

The rumble echoed again—closer this time—like a rolling avalanche.

Kol gripped his blade, a monstrous length of raw, pitted iron that looked like it could shatter a mountain.

“Irrythik,” he said evenly, “we’re leaving. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“Why?” I asked quietly. “Because the Chief said so?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he moved through the white void, his shaggy furs indistinguishable from the snow-covered brush. Snow erupted as he carved a trench though it, then returned and seized my arm.

“Come on. Before…”

I jerked away. “Let go.”

He reached again.

This time, I met into his eyes, perfectly still.

My father used to say:
“A liar’s eyes blink and shift—but the best liars can keep theirs perfectly still. What should you do then? You watch the breath, the swallowing of the throat, listen to their heartbeat. A lie will eventually reveal itself.”

Kol’s face revealed nothing.

The forest exploded, shapes bursting from the treeline.

Not Amarok.

They moved like hunters, silent until their bone-masks in the shape of wolves came to my eyes.

The first bandit charged straight into the trench Kol dug and flipped headfirst into the snow. The second tumbled in after. The rest leapt over. Fun while it lasted.

Kol moved faster than I could think. With a grunt he slammed a fist into one bandit’s throat, knocking him down. Spun, driving a knee into another’s ribs and headbutted another so hard the bone mask split down the middle.

He shoved me aside as a blade flashed.

“Stay behind me!”

I should have listened but my blood rose up so vividly I could taste the iron on my tongue.

And why should I trust him?

For all I knew, this was his doing.

I met the nearest bandit head-on. His strikes were clumsy — and I ducked under his swing, slamming my shoulder into his chest. He stumbled back. I threw a right hook — my strikes were just as clumsy. He sidestepped and his arm wrapped around my throat. We crashed into the snow.

The world narrowed as he choked me.

“Irrythik!” Kol called out but I was preoccupied.

My hands struggled to claw the bandit’s arm crushing my windpipe but he was too strong. Or I was too weak. My vision started to blur until something heavy hit us.

Another bandit crashed down, breaking the hold. I sucked in air just in time for a fist to smash into my jaw. I tasted blood, for real this time. Snow burned cold against my cheek as the bandit prepared raised his arm again—

Kol hit him like a charging bear.

He hurled the man into a pine hard enough to shake snow from its branches. Two more rushed him. Kol snapped one arm, then the other, pivoted and sent both bodies flying into the rest.

Silence followed and the seven men lay broken in the snow.

Kol stood among them, chest heaving, scanning the trees for more. When none came, his gaze found me.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’ve had worse.”

No. I hadn’t. It hurt so much.

Kol knelt and offered a hand.

It was soaked in blood.

I stared at it for a moment then took it.

As he pulled me up, a chill slid down my spine— not from the cold, but from the realization settling in me like heavy snow:

Those bandits were after me.

Morning hardened the world to ice.

Amarok’s trail was buried under fresh snow. I could only hope it was somewhere near these woods that only offered the ordinary winter sounds: cracking ice, a raven gliding somewhere overhead probably anticipating my death and after last night I wouldn’t blame it.

It was official, someone wanted me dead.

And it might be the person walking right in front of me.

“Found something,” Kol said fixated on some black powder that sullied the pristine snow.

He knelt, snow dusting his dark braids and the fur-lined vest he always wore like the cold didn’t exist. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was to show off his abs.

“Yep,” he murmured, “just as I thought. This trail’s fake.”

The sound of his voice, so smug, so annoy —

Wait. what?

“What do you mean fake?”

“You know…. Hoax, deceit. This isn’t Amarok’s famous paw prints,” he said rubbing the powder between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s charcoal mixed with crushed pine resin. Hunters use it to mask their scent and fake tracks when luring wolves. I’m surprised you didn’t realize it, your mother taught the village that trick.”

There’s the Kol I know.

Always taking jabs at me for not being a warrior. Of course, I was aware of my deficiencies. Something the entire village seemed to remind me. With their eyes, their words, their low whispers. Like why should a weakling like myself even inherit the title of Chief right? Well, jokes on them I never wanted the damn title. Not once.

But this?

This failure stung.

For six days I’d been following a trail toward nowhere.

Toward nothing.

Stupid.
Stupid.
And not to mention I was way behind on my ritual activites.

Snow gathered beneath us as we walked.

Or rather—Kol walked, and I stumbled behind him struggling to keep up. The bruises I sustained hurt so much I couldn’t think.

Every now and then he glanced back to check if I was still breathing.
Every now and then I found myself staring at the back of his head, wondering if I was about to be killed.

We were a strange pair: the strong hunter who could snap a man’s arm like kindling, and me—shivering, bruised, trying to make sense of why seven bandits wanted my head so badly.

We walked for hours trusting in Kol’s tracking skills passing frozen streams, dead pines, old hunting blinds half buried in ice.

It suddenly got really warm and sweet.

Kol’s brows drew together. “Do you smell that?”

I did.
The scent of pine resin, crushed flowers, and smoke—nothing like winter.

Kol slowed. “Storm’s coming. We should find shelter.”

I almost laughed. Did you feel the storm in your knees? Open your eyes, the sun’s rays were peering through.

By midday, it was hot and look no storm but my stomach had begun to gnaw at itself, I couldn’t appreciate it.

A hollow ache that made every step hurt.

Kol noticed because he asked if I wanted to rest for a while.

I declined.

He clicked his tongue. “You really are trying to die out here.”

Then I saw my salvation.