Moria held the torch as high as she could to light the way for Tyrus. She could hear him right behind her, so close the sound of his breathing seemed to drown out the pounding of his boots. When she strained, she caught the swish of grass as Daigo ran off to Tyrus’s side. What she could not hear was the sound of pursuit. It didn’t matter. The beasts were there, right there, on Tyrus’s heels, and she didn’t need to look back to confirm that.
When Moria reached the tree, she whipped around. There they were—a seething mass of red eyes and dark shadows. She pitched the torch at them, wheeled again, and jammed her dagger into the tree trunk. She used it as a climbing spike, yanked herself up, and grabbed the lowest branch. She swung onto the limb, leaving the dagger behind. She leaped up onto the branch and took the next one. Soon, Daigo was beside her and Tyrus was on the limb she’d just vacated. She kept going until she was as high as the branches would hold her weight. Then she stretched out on her stomach.
Tyrus reached the branch below hers and handed up her dagger. They both lay with their arms wrapped around the tree, staring down into the night.
The thrown torch had ignited the dry grass, but it only smoldered and smoked, obscuring more than it revealed. Then, as they regained their breath, the clouds overhead drifted past the moon, not clearing it but stretching thin enough for the beams to penetrate.
At first, Moria still saw only red eyes. But as she watched, she could make out shadowy shapes, writhing in the darkness below. When she squinted, one of the shapes seemed to take form into—
“Don’t look.” Tyrus reached up to grip her arm.
“I know but—”
“Don’t look. Please. I don’t care if the stories are true or not. Don’t take that chance, however curious you are. Please. For me.”
She tugged her gaze from the shapes below.
“Think of something else,” Tyrus said. “Tell me about them.”
“You already know—”
“A little.” He managed a wry smile. “Share your expertise and perhaps we can figure a way out of this.”
We can’t. It doesn’t matter if we’ve seen them or not. There’s no escape from—
“Fiend dogs,” she blurted, feeling a mix of relief and fear naming them. “They’re fiend dogs. You’ll see only shadows and eyes. But if you look long enough, they’ll take the form of giant black dogs. They’re both a warning of death and death itself. If you see one, it’ll chase you until it catches you, and then it’ll kill you.” She hesitated. “There’s no escape.”
“Ignore that part. I don’t believe it. Keep going.”
She opened her mouth, but her heart hammered too hard for words. Thunder hawks, death worms, even shadow stalkers . . . they could be stopped, if not killed outright. Fiend dogs caught scent of their prey and chased it right into the second world.
“Moria . . .”
She swallowed hard. Even without looking down, she knew the fiend dogs were there. Growling now, snarling and snapping invisible jaws. Snorting and grunting. The tree vibrated as one jumped against it.
“They can’t climb,” Tyrus said. “Keep talking. You’ll find something useful. I know you will.”
She nodded. “Fiend dogs aren’t like death worms or thunder hawks or dragons. Those are beasts of legend. True beasts, like a hound or a cat. They live and feed and breathe and bleed. They’re said to have once roamed the earth and died out. Fiend dogs are like shadow stalkers. They aren’t alive, not truly. Legend says they’re the souls of warriors who betrayed their lords, forced to forever roam the earth in service of their new lord: death. They’re—”
“Spirits.”
“Yes, which means they’re incorporeal and can take the form of shadow or dog.”
“No, I mean they’re spirits. Like shadow stalkers. You can fight shadow stalkers.”
“In corporeal form, yes, you can—”
“No, Moria.” He met her gaze. “You can fight shadow stalkers. You have fought them. Banished them. You’re the Keeper.”
It was a testament to her terror that she had to process his words, slowly realizing the truth of them. The obvious truth. If these were like the shadow stalkers, she could banish the spirits.
“There’s no guarantee,” she said slowly. “It was not easy with the shadow—”
“You can do it. I know you can.” He grinned, and when he did, that smile seemed to snatch her fear and pitch it as far as her dagger might fly. It wasn’t a grin that said, You’ll save me. It said, I believe in you, and whether you can banish them or not, I know you’ll try, and if you can’t do it, then no one could.
The tree shook as one of the fiend dogs threw itself against the trunk. Then another did the same, and she had to grip the limb with both arms as the spirits battered the tree from below.
“Just hold on,” Tyrus said. “I won’t let you fall.”
Again, this wasn’t anything he could promise. He meant that if she dropped, he’d grab her, and if it pulled them both down, then he would fall with her. Die with her. She looked into his eyes and thought, So this is what all the fuss is about. This was what the bards sang about. What Ashyn swooned about. And it wasn’t nearly as silly and pointless as she thought.
“I can do this,” she said.
That grin blazed again. “Of course you can.”
“And the sooner I start, the better, right?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Even if you’d secretly and heartily agree.” She smiled back at him and the last of her fear evaporated.
I’m the Keeper. I don’t fear spirits; they fear me.
Moria closed her eyes and focused her energy, as she had with the shadow stalkers.
Begone. You don’t belong here. By the power of the ancestors . . .
And on it went. Not the most exciting of rituals. In fact, its only saving grace was that she could say the words in her head. Otherwise, she’d have felt like an idiot, spouting them aloud like the mad prophets who wandered through the Wastes.
She called on the ancestors and all their power, and if, perhaps, there was an occasional deviation from the script, one that reminded the ancestors of all that Moria had been through, and all the times the ancestors seemed to have forsaken her, with the very impious suggestion that, perhaps, she deserved a little extra help now, well—as Ashyn would say, that only proved Moria was feeling more herself.
Below, the fiend dogs continued leaping at the tree, shaking it more each time, as if they’d realized that their combined efforts had more effect.
Were Moria’s own efforts doing anything at all? Truly? They were spirits, blast it. She ought to be able—
“There!” Tyrus said.
Her eyes flew open.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but it’s working. You banished one. I saw it leaping at the tree, and then it—”
Another bash, this one hard enough to knock his chin against the limb he was lying on, and he must have bit his tongue, cursing as he did.
“You ought not to be looking down,” she said.
“I’m glancing down. Now keep at it.”
She did, harder now, spurred by her success. She kept her eyes squeezed shut and listened as Tyrus said, “There’s another gone. And another.”
Daigo had leaped onto the branch over her head, and his tail dangled, flicking against her shoulder as if patting her on the back. Below, though, the fiend dogs grew frenzied, fighting her efforts by throwing themselves ever harder at the tree trunk. When a particularly hard knock pitched her forward, she grabbed the limb, her eyes flicking open as she stared down to see a huge black shape leaping at her.
She saw the beast. Saw its fangs and its form, coming straight at her, high in the tree. Tyrus let out a gasp and went for his sword.
“No!” she shouted.
He realized his mistake in time and grabbed for the tree branch instead. The fiend dog hit the trunk just below Tyrus and fell, but another was already leaping.
“Higher!” she said. “We need to go higher!”
And what good would that do? It didn’t matter how high they went. It was like running from them—they could not escape.
“Begone!” she snarled, throwing all her power into the word. “I command you, begone!”
The beast evaporated in a puff of black smoke. Another was already coming up, not leaping but climbing, scrabbling up the tree as if it were merely a steep incline.
“Begone!” she shouted.
It kept coming. She kept shouting, louder now, until her ears rang, but the beast continued climbing. She gripped her dagger.
What good will that do?
Probably none, but she had to try. The fiend dog was almost an arm’s length from Tyrus now, and she wasn’t letting it get any closer. She pulled back her dagger—
The fiend dogs below hit the trunk all at once. The tree jolted so hard it knocked the climbing beast to the ground. She went to grab the limb, but it was too late. Her dagger fell and she followed, one arm still wrapped around the branch, holding on as tight as she could as her legs dropped. Then hands grabbed her around the waist.
“I’ve got you,” Tyrus said. “Just find your balance. I’ve got—”
The fiend dogs hit again. Tyrus’s eyes widened, and she realized he wasn’t holding onto anything except her. She scrambled to grab him, but as soon as he started to drop, he released her.
“No!” she shouted.
He fell, dropping into the leaves and the darkness below. To the fiend dogs below. A snarl sounded overhead. Then a dark shape leaped past her. Daigo jumping down, branch by branch. The fiend dogs snarled and snapped. Tyrus let out a stifled cry. Moria was already climbing down, right behind Daigo, but that way was slow, too blasted slow. She remembered the horses in the grove, ripped to pieces, and she let go, hurtling like a rock toward the ground. Toward Tyrus. Toward the fiend dogs.