Besotted (The Fairest Maidens #3) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,20

himself in Scripture, from the Gospel of Matthew: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself . . . for whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”

I’d always valued my material possessions and comfort. I could admit I loved rich foods, fine garments, and servants at my side. And I could admit I’d put too much emphasis on my wealthy life. To be sure, my Testing was teaching me to have a better perspective, to deny myself pleasure and to live sacrificially. I would return home a better man for all my experiences.

Even so, my father and the Lagting had given me the easiest Testing. They’d sent Vilmar to be a slave in the dangerous gem mines of Warwick, and they’d relegated Mikkel to Norland’s Isle of Outcasts, where he would have to survive amongst brutal bands of warring exiles.

Yes, I was poor and hungry. And yes, the basilisks and boars posed a threat. But mostly, my everyday existence had been uneventful, even boring. And now with the loss of Rory, my last days in the forest stretched bleakly ahead of me.

Though I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the truth, this Testing had proven it—my father viewed me as the weakest of his sons. He didn’t think I could handle anything harder than woodcutting. And at times, I feared he was right.

Chapter

6

Kresten

The workweek ended too rapidly, and we didn’t reach our quotas, which was no surprise. Regardless, on our day of rest, we started the trek to Birchwood with bundles of wood piled high upon our backs.

An hour into the trip, Jorg halted suddenly.

With my head bent under the loads upon my back, I nearly bumped into him. “For the love of the saints, Jorg—”

“Basilisk.” His tone was low and urgent.

He didn’t have to say anything more. The one word was all the warning I needed.

I followed his attention, peering through the foliage to a blackened patch of earth that appeared as though it had been destroyed by a wayward campfire spark or lightning strike. A reptile-like creature stood at the center of the area on its thin legs, its head raised and its crest rounded and full.

No bigger than a hunting dog, the beast hissed, its long, forked tongue flicking out as though to warn us to stay away.

“Cover your mouth and nose.” Jorg ripped off a strip of his tunic.

Already sensing the dulling of my mind from the poison in the air, I slipped out my knife and slashed mine too. We worked rapidly to cover our mouths and noses, and at the same time, backed up.

The basilisks weren’t known for attacking outright. Instead, if the creatures felt threatened, their hissing expelled more venom. They waited for their victims to fall unconscious from their deadly vapors, then closed in and administered a lethal bite.

As we crept away, the basilisk darted toward a hole in a blackened stump. Only then did I see what it had been standing upon. A human body.

I held out a hand and stopped Jorg. “Wait. Someone’s there.”

A brawny man lay facedown in the leaves and windfall within the basilisk’s burned-out territory. Though I couldn’t see much of his body, I glimpsed an axe attached to his belt.

A fellow woodcutter?

“We need to get him.” I began to loosen the straps on my shoulders. “He might still be alive.”

“If he is, he won’t be for long.”

I lowered my bundles of wood to the ground. Then before I changed my mind, I darted forward.

“No!” Jorg’s fingers grasped at my tunic, but I wrenched away.

With my axe and knife both at the ready and my eyes on the basilisk burrow, I did nothing to conceal my approach. Speed was more important in this instance than stealth, and as I reached the body, I dropped to one knee and rolled him over.

Immediately, I recoiled. ’Twas the young woodcutter who’d guided us when we first arrived at Inglewood Forest. His blue, bloated face was hardly recognizable. The bruising and swelling continued down his neck to his torso and limbs. His fingers were so distended they were double their normal size.

“He’s dead.” Jorg spoke from beside me. “Now let’s go.”

I sheathed my weapons. “We cannot leave him here for the basilisk to feast upon.” Grabbing hold of the man’s arms, I tried to lift him, but a wave of dizziness hit me, and I wavered on my feet.

Jorg’s brow creased, his worried eyes trained upon the basilisk’s lair. But as I dragged the woodcutter backward