Raven Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 97 of 11

The flats past Quinter ran white and empty. Raven rode point with Isaiah, Sylvara and Florence close behind. The iron casket rode on her saddle, wrapped and sealed. It had hidden the tome from scrying all this way. But Florence reined in and lifted her head. "Something's behind us," she said. "On our line. Fast." Raven reached for her bow and felt only the strap. Her charged crystals were gone, lost in the avalanche weeks back. Without them, her bow could not warn her when magic drew near. She had no way to sense the hunter before it struck. It came over the rise at a dead run. A fur-covered beast with two snarling heads, four rows of bloody teeth, claws that threw snow. Behind it rode a woman all in white, gray hair streaming, blue eyes bright with cold joy. Raven knew her. Queen Ry, who had hunted them from Everdan to the far side of the peaks. "You run and run," Ry called, "but you leave a trail a child could read." "Scatter," Raven said. The tracker lunged. Isaiah met it with his sword, driving it off Raven's horse. The beast whirled, both heads biting. Ry dropped from her saddle and came at Raven with bare, clawed hands, laughing the whole way. Florence's crystal flared a warning too late. Raven ducked a swipe and rolled clear into the snow. Ry pinned her. Cold poured off the witch's skin like water. "The book," Ry hissed. "Give it, or I drink you dry." Raven reached for the knife at her belt. Then Isaiah turned from the tracker. He drove his sword through Ry's back. The witch went rigid. The tracker howled once and bolted into the flats, its master falling. Ry slid off Raven and sat in the reddening snow. She laughed, blood on her lips. "You think this saves you," she said. "Ahead stands Moira's castle. White stone, bodies at the door, bones in the pens." She coughed. "Moira Dreadmaw. One eye, teeth like a shark, claws longer than your arm. She eats what crosses her flats. You'll wish I'd finished you here." Her blue eyes dimmed. She fell back and did not move. Raven stood, shaking. Isaiah pulled her up. "She's done," he said. Florence knelt by the body, crystal in hand, and nodded. No breath. No warmth. The hunter who had chased them for weeks was dead. But Ry had told the truth about one thing. Far east, past the empty flats, a shape rose from the white. A severe castle of pale stone, veiled in snow. Even at this distance, Raven saw the dark front lined with still figures, and the barred pens beside it stacked with bones. Her grandmother's old place lay beyond it. There was no road around. "That's where we're going," Raven said. She mounted, the casket still at her saddle. The witch who tracked them was gone. The thing waiting ahead was worse.