A sudden chill tore Uthalion from the memory, and he looked upon the ruins the city had become. Rusted gates of worked iron hung loose and tangled with vines that roped and snaked across every surface. Deep cracks marked the crumbling walls, filled with more of the encroaching green vines. The mist-grass lapped at the city walls, giving it the impression of an island trapped in an emerald sea. Multi-colored flashes of light glittered from the tall forest of spires that pressed down against the southern end of the ruins.
Ghaelya stood at the gates, fearlessly tugging at the protesting hinges. Uthalion and the others rushed to keep up with the genasi lest they lose her in the labyrinthine streets. The image of her fighting to get in struck him as horrific given that she had fought so hard to escape the grasp of those who might have brought her to the same gates. He had a sudden urge to pull her away and shake the mad gleam from her eyes, but knew the effort would be wasted-she might have cut him down just as quickly as anything else that stood in her way.
He let her slip through the gates without a word, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared into the familiar cobblestone streets beyond. As Brindani entered behind her, he laid a hand upon the gate. A thin web of nearly transparent skin stretched between the half-elf’s long fingers. Uthalion shared a horrified glance with Vaasurri and placed a hand on his sword as an ominous wind howled down the narrow avenue.
Cursing quietly and catching his breath, Uthalion pulled the rusted gate wider and entered the ruins.
Ghaelya stepped cautiously over vines and broken stones, turning as if she expected monsters to come pouring from every shadow and crevice. Though nothing appeared, she drew her sword anyway, descending down the empty lane of hollowed buildings, wide-eyed and tense with every careful step. Twisting vine-trees grew through cracks in the street, swaying hypnotically alongside the seaweedlike greenery that choked the walls and slowly squeezed them into dust. Old stone was weathered and discolored, and shafts of shimmering light played upon every surface and shone into every open doorway. Dragonflies hovered in flashing swarms of silver, darting one way, then the next, disappearing into windows curtained in green.
“Where are you?” she whispered angrily through clenched teeth. “I’m here!”
She fought the urge to cry out, to hear something besides the endless murmuring of the wind and the creaking of twisting vine-trees. Her footsteps echoed loudly, her breath seemed to rumble like thunder, and her heart raced in her chest like a charging army. She moved faster, nimbly prowling through the narrow streets and searching for any sign, any clue that might lead her to Tessaeril. Becoming frantic, she worked her way from building to building, peering into doorways and finding naught but vines and dragonflies.
She stumbled into an intersection, cursing and catching herself on her hands amid a braided web of vines. Halfway to standing she paused; a flash of red on the ground caught her eye. Parting the vines she saw a streak of crimson splattered across the stones accompanied by the shape of a red, long-fingered handprint. She looked up, studying the surrounding buildings for anything similar or any trail she could follow.
“Too red to be blood,” Uthalion said over her shoulder, and she nodded thoughtfully, though she glanced at Brindani who had leaned against a nearby wall, shivering in his cloak.
“It’s always blood,” she said quietly. She chose the steepest avenue out of the intersection, following the direction indicated by the handprint and trying to trust to her instincts as she called over her shoulder, “We should go south.”
“You know this?” Vaasurri asked.
“Would the direction matter if I didn’t know?” she said.
She didn’t stop for an answer, driven to accept even the slightest clue. She was tired of wandering aimlessly. With a direction, even if it were arbitrary, she felt somewhat in control, though briefly she shamefully wondered where she would find her sister’s body. The sudden idea spawned a hundred others, a myriad of possibilities assaulting her as she pressed on, unable to stop the course of her thoughts.
Overgrown buildings fell into a darker shade near the center of the city. Leaning dwellings, held up only by the wild nature that had broken them in the first place, leered at her like the empty skulls of fallen giants, titans that had laid down to rest and had never woken up. Yawning doorways moaned as the breeze picked up, funnelling like a cold river through the tight streets.
Despite the wind, an ominous silence seemed to vibrate in every part of the city, resting it on an edge between peaceful sleep and all-consuming nightmare. The vines grew thicker, bridging between the buildings and creating a thick canopy pierced by tiny shafts of orange light. The glow played along her arms and shoulders, a harbinger of a sunset that grew closer and closer. Dried vegetation and loose rocks crunched under her boots as she raised her sword, and the shadows squirmed with a hundred different shapes as her eyes tried to adjust.
Uthalion crept closer, his sword drawn as the narrow street opened into a circular intersection of old shops and shattered architecture. The air grew warmer and humid, clinging thickly to Ghaelya’s skin as a heavy scent wafted through the intersection. It smelled of unwashed bodies, death, and other things she did not want to contemplate. Her stomach turned, and bile burned in the back of her throat as she struggled to keep her composure.
At the center of the intersection they stopped, the sudden silence of their footsteps lasting only briefly as Ghaelya heard something else filling the spaces between one heartbeat and the next. A swift and rhythmic huffing sound like a thousand miniature forge bellows emanated from every shadowed doorway, every darkened window. Once heard, Ghaelya swore she could feel it, blowing hot on her cheek like the wind at a summer funeral.
“What is it?” Uthalion whispered. “Just wind through the leaves?”
“Not just leaves,” Vaasurri answered from Ghaelya’s right. The killoren was kneeling, inspecting something on the ground, turning a small object over in the palm of his hand. He held it up in a shaft of red-orange light. “Teeth.”
The shadows deepened, and the huffing grew louder, little breaths in unison all around them. Ghaelya blinked in the the dim light, squinting at what appeared to be pale fingers clasped over windowsills and feet lying close to open doors. They were just far enough away from the entrances to make her doubt her own eyes. As she stepped closer to the other end of the intersection, dreading the reddened light beyond the canopy of vines, she winced at the crunching sound beneath her boot.
Shadows moved along the tops of the buildings, blocking the shafts of light and prowling just out of sight. Occasionally a soft, raspy whimper would echo through an open window, sending chills down her spine.
“I hear it,” Brindani whispered, the words carrying loudly in the enclosed space. The half-elf grew more animated, dropping the edges of his cloak and walking toward the southern edge of the intersection. Silhouetted in red light, he placed his hands on his head as if in pain. “Can you hear it?” he asked in a strained voice.
He stood still a moment before following the street with an easy stride, shielding his eyes when a shaft of light fell on him from an empty alley. Ghaelya watched him go, hesitating for half a breath as the occasional whimpers increased and the ghostly breathing intensified, becoming faster and faster.
“Let’s go,” Uthalion said, his voice breaking through the fear that threatened to leave her frozen in place. Despite the cacophony of crushed teeth and leaves that seemed to thunder beneath them, Ghaelya made out the muffled sound of heavy forms thudding against old wood, of fingernails scratching at stone, and tortured throats groaning as some unseen host was awoken by the dying light of day.