Chapter 19: The Road North
Half a day's journey north from Elarin, the forest began to change.
It was a gradual process, as if some boundary line separated two worlds, though the line itself was blurred, permeable, something you could walk through. That line was temperature.
The spacing between trees slowly widened, the canopy thinned, and the once-continuous shadows began to show gaps where light fell in large, solid blocks—nothing like the fragmented dappling deeper in the woods. The ground beneath our boots shifted from damp, dark brown earth to grayish-white gravel that made crisp, short sounds with each step. Grass grew sparser, boulders more frequent, and exposed rock formations began to run together in unbroken stretches. Some rock faces bore rust-colored mineral veins cutting across them, wind-polished smooth; when I pressed my fingers against them, I could feel a faint coolness still trapped inside the stone.
Even the wind had changed. The moisture that came from the west stopped behind those gradually thinning trees, and the wind that reached us here was dry, carrying sand and a kind of vast, empty scent I couldn't name—more direct than the wind off Elarin's cliffs, not circling around but coming straight at us, pressing against our faces.
Cade walked four or five paces ahead of me. This was his habitual distance, close enough for him to spot trouble ahead in time, but not so far that I couldn't keep up. His way of walking on mountain paths differed from how he moved through Elarin's streets; here, he chose the higher rocky ledges on the right rather than the easier grass, gaining better sightlines at the cost of more strain on his ankles. I'd initially assumed it was just habit, but eventually I understood what he was actually doing—positioning himself where he could see farther, bringing potential dangers into view before they could close in.
He stopped suddenly.
No warning gesture, just his stride ending and his hand settling naturally on the hilt at his waist. I stopped as well, looking in the direction his gaze had been fixed before he halted.
Between a patch of grass and a sloping rock face, something was there.
I saw the antlers first.
It was a creature slightly smaller than an ordinary deer, with slender limbs and a light frame. It lay at the edge of the grass, its coat a deep gray-brown, but along its neck and spine ran a line of strange fur that caught the shifting light with a subtle, flowing luminescence, as if something beneath the hide were moving quietly. It had two antlers—the left one normal, no different from any mountain deer's, but the right one was nearly a third shorter, growing smoother and darker toward the tip, which emitted a cold blue-white glow that almost vanished in the afternoon sunlight.
Its eyes were amber, the pupils teardrop-shaped and elongated slightly downward. Those eyes were fixed on us now, the creature frozen in place, showing neither flight nor aggression—just the absolute stillness that comes from being pinned by fear and pain.
Its left hind leg was tucked beneath its body at an unnatural angle. Probably broken.
"We keep moving," Cade said, his hand still on the hilt, his voice low to avoid startling it.
"That deer up ahead—its leg is injured."
"That's not a deer." His gaze lingered on the creature for two seconds before moving away to scan our surroundings, assessing whether this was chance or trap. "It's mixed-blood, with lineage from below. These things can bite through a man's arm when they go feral."
"Its luminescent parts are showing steady brightness," I said, unbuckling the side pocket of my pack and taking out two small containers. "And it's injured. Doesn't look like it's going to attack."
"You think it's some palace lapdog?"
"Usually, if you use the right approach, they're the same thing." I didn't like his tone, so mine carried its own edge of mockery. "Besides, usually hunters aren't afraid of their prey."
"Usually," he repeated the word, his tone carrying that particular resignation that comes when you see something inevitable about to happen. "Fine. Go ahead. I'll be right here."
He crossed his arms and stood to one side. "If it bites you, I'm not responsible."
I crouched down and began moving forward, slowing my pace to half my normal speed. Before each step touched ground, I paused, giving it time to sense my position and scent. Those amber eyes stayed fixed on me, ears rotating forward, fur lying flat. When I was still four paces away, it lowered the glowing antler slightly—a small movement. I stopped, waited ten seconds until its neck relaxed, then continued approaching.
I stopped two paces from it and extended my hand, palm up in the air, letting it smell.
It lowered its head, nose approaching my hand. Its breath was warm, carrying a clean scent like cold mineral stone, completely unlike an ordinary deer. Then it gently pressed its head against the back of my hand once, just once, before lifting it and tilting the glowing antler toward the injured side, then raising it again.
Only then did I lower my gaze to examine the wounded leg carefully.
The injury was above the left hind knee joint—a deep cut with clean edges, probably from a sharp stone. Infection had already begun; the surrounding skin had darkened and felt warm to the touch.
Mixed-blood creatures' tissue regeneration seemed very slow, and the subterranean lineage made ordinary anti-inflammatory treatments half as effective. Without treatment, within three or four days it would never stand again.
I opened my pack and began mixing remedies. The first herb I ground into a wet paste and spread over the wound's surface—the smell was strong, a choking bitterness. The second I powdered and pinched between two fingers, sprinkling it evenly into the wound; it would cause mild irritation. When the second herb touched the wound, its whole body trembled once and the glowing antler flared brighter for an instant, but I didn't stop, continuing to press it evenly into the injury. It turned its head to the other side, looking away from my hands.
While I treated the wound, Cade stood behind me.
His shadow fell on the ground beside me, positioned between me and the grass's edge—the angle from which, if he needed to draw his blade, he could block an antler strike in the shortest time possible. Throughout the process he said nothing more, and his hand never left the hilt.
But the way he stood there gradually shifted from vigilance to something else.
I sensed it when reaching for the second powder—his shadow moved forward a bit, not much, just a few steps closer, for no particular reason.
He wouldn't admit it, but he'd grown curious, because throughout the entire process the creature remained calm, giving no signal that warranted alarm. Probably he'd never seen such a docile creature with demonic bloodline, or rather, these creatures had always been killed by him before they could demonstrate non-aggression.
I hadn't realized that most of the time, his gaze was on me.
When I finished, I stood and stepped back two paces, giving it space to move.
The creature slowly rose, testing weight on its left hind leg, which held. It shook the luminescent fur along its neck. Then it turned its head to look at me and made a low, resonant sound. In that moment, its glowing antler brightened more than before, like a lamp turned up one notch. It watched me for perhaps five or six seconds, then turned and walked into the grass, disappearing. That cold light traced a brief arc through the grass blades before vanishing.
I turned around to find Cade much closer than I'd expected, our eyes meeting directly.
He quickly looked away.
"It's memorized your scent. It might come back to bite you."
"Most things that have been helped don't bite the hand that helped them."
"Most," he said, still stubborn. "How do you know it's not the exception?"
"Because it knew I was helping it," I said, returning the small containers to my pack. "Have you ever encountered someone who helped you, then turned around and bit them?"
He was silent for a second, and I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious.
"I'm not a dog. I don't bite people."
I let out a laugh, and he just sighed heavily and continued walking forward.
The mountain path stretched ahead into deeper highlands, wind slapping across from the opposite rock face, pressing my coat against my back. We didn't speak, but for the first time I watched his back and followed his steps without question.