People were dying and disappearing almost as soon as they began walking with her. It was her destiny and her duty and she wasn’t risking anyone else.
Snow had not returned to join the group.
But she forced away thoughts of Owen and his horrible condition and the fact that the witch’s daughter might have killed him.
She had to.
She rose silently and gave a last look around at the sleeping people.
When she slipped from camp, Grim was at her heels.
“Go back,” she told him sternly. “Stay with the zombies.”
He completely ignored her, his head bobbing as he trotted along beside her. Afraid he’d either lose his way or get attacked by one of the creepies of Skyll if she took him too far from camp, she made the decision to outrun him when they’d gone less than a mile.
She had no idea how to find the witch, but knew she would find her. It was what she had to do.
There was no doubt in her mind.
“Goodbye,” she told the dog. “Be safe, little dude.”
And before he could do more than tilt his head and chuff a rebuke, she was gone.
She ran like the Rune of old—the vampire, the monster, the freak. The speed was exhilarating, a release she hadn’t even been aware she’d needed. The wind, cool and fragrant, slapped at her cheeks and tangled her hair.
She ran until dawn began to gently light the dark sky. It was time to find a town and get directions to the Magic Shimmer.
Finally, it felt right.
One thing at a time.
“Destroy the witch, save Z,” she muttered. And she whispered the words under her breath like a mantra as she jogged the next few miles.
Maybe she just needed to hear a voice, even if it was her own.
Because where she’d ended up was…wasteland. And she didn’t see a single person.
The morning didn’t gradually heat up. One minute it was comfortably cool and the next it was so hot that layers of sweat gathered on her skin and sat there stubbornly, refusing to evaporate.
Lightning zoomed across the vivid, dull red skies, and angry thunder boomed sporadically.
And God, it was hot.
She had the very strong feeling that she’d somehow passed into Magic without realizing it as she’d streaked impossibly fast through the night.
Not just because of the difference in the land, or the heat, or the streaks of lightning in the stormless skies.
But because she felt the heavy presence of the witch.
It was a confusing feeling. It was confusing because it wasn’t terrible.
She shook it off.
“I’m coming, Z,” she promised.
She searched the distance for signs of habitation as she walked through the arid land, but saw nothing other than dry, scorched earth, twisted black trees, and mounds of brown rock.
The land was hauntingly beautiful, in a horrible sort of way.
Bleached skulls lay scattered haphazardly upon the ground. Some appeared human, some animal. There were some with needle fangs as long as her forearm. Some with horns. Some of them lay half buried with parts of their skeletons strewn around them.
As she strode through the silence, the berserker’s roar echoed through her memory, making her feel even lonelier.
I miss you, Berserker.
She missed them all.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the smoky scent of the hot air, and let herself believe, for one second, that she was back in River County.
That Z was there with her.
When she opened her eyes the impatience to kill the witch overwhelmed her.
She stopped walking and clenched her fists. “Damascus,” she screamed. “Damascus…”
Claustrophobia choked her like an inescapable noose and she clawed at the neck of her filthy shirt, trying to get some of the blistering air into her lungs.
But Damascus did not show herself, and Rune was left alone to battle her demons.
The farther she went the more bones she stepped upon, and occasionally she spotted a sad wooden stake or cross that had been hammered into the ground to mark some unfortunate soul’s grave.
Finally, the clusters of knotted and gnarled trees standing sentinel in the boneyard grew thicker.
She stopped to stare around her, shocked that something in the eerie, silent land of bones and black trees called to her. The red sky sheltered the strange boneyard like a tent, and the torturous yellow sun watched—and baked—them all.
She had no idea where the bones had come from, or what had happened to the people who’d rotted away and left them there.