Chapter 30:
The Feast
Glory of Ash
The first wave came without warning.
Not from the fog. From the ground. The soil split open and something pale erupted—a grub the size of a man's arm, translucent, pulsing with a soft blue light. Its mouth was a spiral of teeth. It lunged at Silla's ankle—the one she'd twisted crossing the ravine. The one that had been slowing her for days.
She moved. Her blade came down. The grub split. Blue fluid sprayed across her boot. The light didn't fade. It pulsed on the ground, dying slowly, and Silla's ankle went numb from the wound outward.
"Everyone up!"
Dorn was already standing. His wounded arm hung at his side, but his axe was in his good hand. "Form a circle!"
They moved. Silla to the left—limping, the numbness spreading up her calf. Varra to the right. Jorund at the rear. Luke and Leon in the center. Harkin stood where he was, the broken lantern frame still in his hand.
"The lantern—"
"Is gone."
"We need light."
"We need to fight."
---
The second wave came from the trees.
Moths. Their wings were wide, iridescent, shifting from violet to gold as they fluttered. Their bodies were small, almost delicate. They didn't attack randomly. They went for Luke's face—his mouth, his nose, the cough that had been tearing out of him for weeks.
His lungs seized. He coughed—deep, wet, blood-flecked—and the dust settled into his chest. The burning was immediate. He couldn't breathe.
"Luke!"
Leon pulled him down. The moths swarmed where his head had been.
"Don't breathe the dust!"
Silla pulled her collar over her mouth. Varra did the same. Jorund swung his hammer at the air—not to kill, to scatter. The moths broke apart. The dust filled the clearing.
Harkin inhaled. He coughed. His hands went to his throat. "I can't—"
"Duck!"
Dorn pulled him down. A moth passed where his head had been. Dust settled on Harkin's neck. The skin blistered immediately.
---
The third wave came from the fog.
Centipedes. Their bodies were long, low, segmented, covered in fur that rippled as they moved. Their eyes were human. Each segment had a pair. They moved in unison—not as individuals, as one creature with many bodies.
They went for Dorn's wounded shoulder. For Harkin's numb legs. For Varra's burned skin. The forest had learned. The forest remembered.
"This isn't random," Luke gasped.
"What?"
"They're targeting us. Where we're weak."
---
Silla faced the first centipede alone.
It lunged at her ankle—the numb one. She didn't feel it wrap around her calf until the teeth sank in.
She screamed.
Her blade came down. The creature split. Its head kept biting. She pried the jaws open with her fingers. Her skin peeled.
"Varra!"
"I see them."
"How many?"
"Too many."
---
Dorn fought with one arm.
His axe swung. A centipede lost its head. The body kept moving. Another wrapped around his leg. He kicked it off. Another took its place.
"They're coordinating!"
"Then break the coordination!"
"How?"
He didn't have an answer.
---
Harkin stood frozen.
A centipede wrapped around his wounded leg. Squeezed. The gashes opened wider. Blood and blue fluid pulsed onto the soil.
He didn't fight. He just stared at his hands. The empty hands. The broken lantern frame on the ground.
"HARKIN!"
"I can't—"
"FIGHT!"
He grabbed the centipede's head. Squeezed. The eyes popped. The body thrashed. He held on.
---
Varra was losing ground.
Her leg was numb to the hip. She couldn't feel her foot. She was fighting blind below the waist.
A grub erupted at her feet. She stomped it. The blue light spread. The numbness climbed to her ribs.
She stumbled. Fell to one knee.
"Varra!"
"Leave me!"
"We're not leaving anyone!"
Silla grabbed her collar, dragged her backward. Varra's blade scraped the soil. A centipede lunged at her exposed back. Silla swung. Missed.
---
Jorund caught it.
His black hand closed around the creature's head. Squeezed. The skull cracked. Fluid sprayed across his chest.
The centipedes stopped. Not retreated—paused.
Every remaining creature turned to face Jorund.
The stain on his chest was pulsing. Visible through his shirt. In rhythm with the forest.
"Jorund—"
He didn't answer. He just stood there. The creatures watched him. He watched them.
His fingers twitched. Not his movement. Something else.
---
Luke grabbed his arm.
"Don't."
Jorund turned. His eyes were grey.
"Bren looked like that."
"He's not Bren."
"Neither am I."
Luke's hand tightened. The stain on his palm met the stain on Jorund's wrist. They pulsed together. Once. Twice. A third time.
Jorund's eyes flickered. Brown. Then grey. Then brown again.
"What are you doing to me?"
"Bringing you back."
"What if I don't want to come back?"
Luke didn't answer.
---
The creatures attacked again.
All at once. Not waves. A flood. Grubs erupted from the soil. Moths descended from the trees. Centipedes poured from the fog.
"RUN!"
They ran. Not together. Apart. The group shattered.
Dorn carried Harkin. Silla dragged Varra. Jorund ran alone, his black hands pumping at his sides. Luke ran with Leon.
"You're slowing down!"
"I'm not—"
Leon grabbed his arm. Pulled. Luke stumbled. His lungs seized.
"Breathe."
"I can't."
"Breathe anyway."
---
Dorn fell.
Harkin tumbled from his arms. Hit the ground. A centipede wrapped around his chest. Squeezed.
"DORN!"
Dorn swung his axe. The blade bit into the creature's body. It didn't release. He swung again. The creature split. Harkin gasped. His ribs cracked.
"Get up."
"I can't."
"GET UP!"
Dorn pulled him to his feet. Harkin screamed. His leg buckled. Something inside had broken.
---
Silla dragged Varra behind a fallen tree.
Varra's leg was useless now—dragging behind her, blue and swollen. Her breathing was shallow.
"You need to leave me."
"Shut up."
"You can't carry me."
"I can drag you."
"Same thing."
Silla pressed her hand to Varra's face. Forced her to look.
"I'm not losing anyone else today."
---
The creatures stopped chasing.
Not retreated. Stopped. They stood at the edge of the clearing, watching. Waiting.
The ground was still. The fog was thin. The silence was worse than the screaming.
"Why did they stop?" Leon whispered.
Luke looked at the treeline. At the space between the trunks.
"Because they're not hungry anymore."
"Then what are they?"
"Curious."
---
Dorn sat with Harkin against a tree.
Harkin's leg was bent wrong. The bone had shifted. He wasn't screaming anymore. He was just breathing. Shallow. Fast.
"Your leg—"
"I know."
"We need to set it."
"I know."
"Then let me—"
"No."
Dorn stared at him.
"You're not a medic."
"I'm what we have."
"Then we wait."
"For what?"
"For someone who knows what they're doing."
---
Varra's eyes were open.
The numbness had reached her chest. She couldn't feel her hands.
"Silla."
"I'm here."
"I can't feel my hands."
Silla grabbed them. Squeezed.
"Can you feel that?"
"No."
She squeezed harder.
"No."
Silla didn't let go.
---
Jorund sat apart.
His hands were black. His chest was black. His face was grey.
The stain had reached his throat.
He could feel it beating. Not his heart. The forest's heart. The same rhythm as the roots. The same rhythm as the grubs. The same rhythm as everything.
"Jorund."
He looked up. Luke was standing over him.
"You're not going to tell them."
"Tell them what?"
"About the pulsing. About the rhythm."
Jorund looked at his hands.
"It's not mine anymore."
"Whose is it?"
"The forest's."
---
Luke looked at the treeline.
The shapes were still there. Watching.
"They're going to come back."
"When?"
"When they're ready."
"And when will that be?"
Luke looked at Jorund. At his chest. At the stain that was spreading faster now.
"Soon."
---
The group sat in the dark.
No fire. No light. Just the fog and the silence and the sound of Harkin's breathing.
Dorn held his axe. Silla held Varra's hand. Jorund held nothing. His hands were black. His eyes were grey.
Luke sat apart.
His face was black to the jaw.
The forest was waiting.
And he was running out of time to stop it.
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