Then the ground vibrated beneath her feet.
When she glanced over, she saw Ronan looking up into the trees, frowning as the noise came again, closer now.
"Do you feel that?" Ashyn whispered.
"I heard--"
"No. Feel."
She bent and put her fingers to the ground. When she lifted them, she could still sense the vibrations strumming through the air.
"What is she--?" Ronan's uncle began.
Ronan motioned for quiet. Ashyn closed her eyes, her fingers out as the air thrummed. The sound in the woods whistled around them, darting closer, then away.
It's watching us, she thought. Whatever's out there is watching us. Stalking us. But something's keeping it back.
She was keeping it back. She had no power to banish evil spirits, as Moria did, but her very presence was supposed to keep them at bay.
"What do you sense?" Ronan's voice startled her.
"I . . . don't know. The air. It's . . . vibrating. Something's here."
"Grab the packs. The lantern--" his uncle said.
A dark shape shot from the trees, so fast Ashyn had only time to yelp and fall back. It went straight for the lantern, swirling around it, and for a moment, she saw black smoke. And eyes. She was sure she saw eyes. Then the lantern went out, plunging them into darkness.
"Run!" Ronan's uncle bellowed.
Ashyn looked toward him. In the dim light of the smoldering campfire, she saw his sword flash as a shadow swirled past. The blade cut through the smoke, dispersing it for a moment.
Ronan stood there, staring. He lunged toward his uncle, but she caught his elbow, yanked him back, and gave him a shove toward the marked path.
"Run!" his uncle shouted again.
Smoke encircled the man. As Ashyn dragged Ronan, he tripped and staggered, looking back as if transfixed by the sight of the sword cutting through the smoke. That's all they could see--the occasional flash of a blade. Ronan turned, starting back for his uncle even as Ashyn yelled no, they had to go.
Then his uncle roared. A terrible roar of rage and pain. Blood sprayed from inside the smoke.
Ronan stopped. He gave a choked sob. Then he stumbled back to Ashyn, pushing her ahead of him as they fled.
Moria
Nine
Moria sat cross-legged on her sleeping mat, listening to the chatter from the main room, each burst of laughter raking down her spine.
"I wish they'd go away," she muttered to Daigo.
He grumbled his agreement.
"Father doesn't want them here. He's only being polite. They ought to see that and leave."
If her mother were here, would she send them scattering with a snapped word, a snarl? Was that where Moria got it from?
Don't think of her. Not today.
The villagers had come to distract them with companionship, candied fruits, and honey wine. Moria took another gulp from her cup. The wine did seem to help. Less so the companionship.