Aethel Skyweaver's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

The sealing work was half done when Aethel saw the blood. A thin red line ran down a board, dripped past the edge, and pointed straight at the ground below like a wet arrow. The injured outcast had bled through the mat. Aethel followed the trail with their eyes and felt their stomach drop. Hunters with sharp noses would not need a map. Thornfang Razorclaw had already set their answer at the platform's lip — a row of stout little mushroom-shaped figures, capped and squat, wedged shoulder to shoulder along the rope edge. "Warband," Thornfang said. "They bite ropes, not people. Anyone climbs, the line drops them." The grey cat patted one approvingly. It was clever. It was not enough. The blood was still falling. Below, between the scrub, Aethel saw movement. A tall wooden post had been driven into the dirt, its plank scrubbed clean and nailed with a single painted arrow pointing up. A marker. Their marker. The hunters were already close enough to plant signs for the ones behind them. Aethel had no brine. No cloth. No time. They grabbed the only thing in reach — a fat, splotched garden slug curled under the mushroom shelter, blue skin spotted purple. Aethel scooped it up, pressed it to the bleeding board, and dragged it along the trail. Slime smeared over blood. Then they did worse. They took a soft red cap from the landing pad, split it, and smashed it open over the rail so its juice poured down the post in a fake, slick wound that dripped sideways, away from the platform, away from the outcast, into the brush. The hunters arrived. Aethel pressed flat and listened. Voices. Sniffing. A long pause at the post. Then footsteps turning — following the false drip, the louder smell, the wrong arrow. The cat's tail twitched once. Thornfang did not breathe. The footsteps faded into the scrub. Aethel sat back on the boards. The outcast was still alive. The trail was broken. But the marker was still planted in the dirt below, and someone had set it there on purpose. The hunters were gone tonight. Whoever sent them now knew exactly where to point.