Young Writers Society

a/n: hey, thanks for checking out Starry Veins! This is the novel I wrote for Round V of LMS, and it's still a first draft! While I don't discourage any feedback, I prefer not to receive feedback on grammar! I'm not polishing this draft up yet, so I'm not as concerned about editing. I am, of course, open to all feedback, but I ask that you keep this in consideration! Thanks <3

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[Isadora]

Isadora had been loath to leave the City of Bells, but knew Margaretta wasn’t going to stop on any account, especially for a city. Even a lovely one.

Margaretta’s insistent pushing to get to the ruins wasn’t surprising, but Isadora was so frustrated. She knew Margaretta was the type to push for what she wanted until she got it. And Isadora had always admired her drive, but there had also always been a purpose. A reason.

What was Margaretta hoping so badly to find in a ruin that nobody had ever successfully ventured to? One that seemed as though to swallow people whole. And not just a few, but dozens.

Her feet and legs ached and throbbed. For all the saddle sore and rubs she had gotten from the horses, she missed them dearly. Walking for days and days with so little rest might just be the death of her.

Mishal somehow did not look beleaguered. His chin was up, and his shoulders set. He didn’t look much different from when they had first left the city. Whatever kept him going, she wished he’d let her borrow some.

He hadn’t spoken anymore about the oracle. She couldn’t tell now if he was feeling better, with time to lessen his burdens, or if he was simply hiding it.

Margaretta called for a halt to examine their map. Isadora wasn’t sure what she needed a stop for, her nose had been buried in that map for the last two days. But she sat down on the road, breathing hard in the mounting heat and thick air of the Reaping Season.

Gracia, Forestter, and the mage they had hired to cast a barrier from the Wilderlands all congregated around Margaretta and her map.

“What do you think we’re going to find in the ruins?” she asked Mishal. Maybe he would have a better idea. He was so smart, after all, maybe he would think of something she had missed.

He didn’t sit and her legs ached from simply looking at him.

“Hopefully, the secrets to everything,” he replied, shrugging.

She frowned. “And what about the curse? What about Averi?”

He glanced down at her, backlit by the sun. She had to squint to see him as the golden light filtering around his head like a crown.

“They came back, didn’t they?” he pointed out.

“We’re pressing forward a few more miles!” Margaretta shouted, rolling up her map, and rousing everyone who had taken the stop to their advantage.

Mishal offered her his hand. “Only a few more miles.”

She grunted as she got to her feet, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Her muscles burned in agony.

When this was over, she was going to take a half-decade nap. Give or take a few years.

* * *

The sun was beginning its descent by the time Margaretta—and the others—decided this was the place. And it had certainly been more than a few miles.

“We turn into the Wilderlands here. It should be only a few days through to the ruins now,” Margaretta explained to the group. Her hair frizzed around her head and she looked dishevelled, but her eyes were more alight than they had been since their arrival to the City of Bells.

Isadora exhaled deeply and Mishal put a hand on her shoulder. “A little bit more,” he said gently.

“You said that last time,” she snapped. Then sighed again, shutting her eyes for a moment, and listened as the mage, Wren, walked around everyone in a thirty-foot circle, chanting. She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault. I’m so tired. I want to be back home in front of the hearth with everyone.”

He squeezed her shoulder and released her. “We can’t be going much longer. You’ll be able to rest soon.” He rolled his shoulders. “Though I certainly wouldn’t pass up the hearth if it were offered. Then again, it is pretty warm already, so maybe a quiet afternoon in the library instead.”

“Ugh,” she said, slouching forward. Sweat had gathered on her neck and temple. She didn’t want to be thinking about how hot it was.

Wren finished off her enchantment. “Everyone stay withing thirty feet of me. I can only expend so much energy, especially holding the spell for a good while.”

Nobody moved at first. Then Margaretta, ignoring this, stepped off the road. Isadora inhaled quickly.

Margaretta took several more steps, all in quick succession. Not roots or vines shot out to entangle her or drag her away. No fissures opened beneath her feet to swallow her. The forest creaked ahead of them where it lay, waiting and perhaps warning, but otherwise, all was well. Margaretta was unharmed. Isadora was not the only one to exhale in relief.

The going through the forest was slow and wrought with tense, stifling energy. As if sensing prey it was unable to harm, the thicket closed tighter into itself. The underbrush was so thick together that she couldn’t see any breaks or gaps of light slipping through from any direction. The woods shuddered and groaned, and the trees all swayed. Their canopy knitted itself together until it was dark, and Gracia had to cast small orbs of light that surrounded the expedition.

Branches rustled above her. She glanced up, finding leaves and wood instead of some malicious forest entity. A pair of squirrel-like creatures rushed through the treetops and upset a bird, its feathers too dark to make out any species as it took flight.

Outside Wren’s circle, she saw shadows weaving in and out of sight. She stayed close to Mishal in the centre, near Wren, and the sword he carried on his side. Her heart fluttered.

She had only ever been in the forest near the Citadel. Familiarity lent itself to comfort back home, even after she’d learned of the threat the Wilderlands posed. But here, it was all wrong. It was dark and thorns bit at her ankles. This wasn’t some fun romp in the woods with Cassius and Ember and Rowan.

Then finally, finally, the wood parted. The trees opened into a luscious glade. Royal blue and purple light filtered down, interwoven with marbled orange and gold. A soft and moss-riddled carpet of plush, thick grass covered the open space. Trees stilled bowed into the glade, blocking out chunks of sky, but it was a far sight better than the dense, choking woods.

She glanced towards Margaretta pleadingly.

Margaretta surveyed the clearing, hands on her hips, with Wren coming quickly to join her. Then she nodded, decisive, and turned back. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

Isadora stopped herself from dramatically collapsing to her knees, but it was a near thing. She laughed breathily instead and leaned her full weight into Mishal beside her.

What relief she found in sleep that night left her swiftly, however, as she was interrupted in the clutches of dreaming by a rude jostling to her shoulder.

When she cracked her eyelids, early morning glow filtered into the glade, pooling everything in a misty, powder blue. The sky was only a dusky, pale expanse, and there was dew on the grass. Fog rolled into the clearing like water on a calm lakeshore.

“Isa.” Another jostle. “Isadora, wake up. Please.”

She peered over her shoulder with a glower. “Go away, Mishal.”

He looked far too awake for so grievous and bitter the hour. She shut her eyes and nestled back into her pillow, ignoring him.

But Mishal did not go away. “Isadora, please, I’ve seen something in the woods. We need to get up.”

“It’s just the Wilderlands,” she mumbled, sleep heavy and warm over her, like her blanket. The day’s heat had not yet rolled in and she was comfort under her covering. She heard other people stirring, another voice not Mishal’s biding them to wake, but she cared little for it.

She was not going to wake at the first wink of dawn for anything.

“G’ back t’ sleep, Stormy,” she said. She curled herself tighter into her blanket.

The sharp and clear howl of what she could only surmise to be a wolf broke the morning quiet like the wailing of the alarm bells back at the Citadel.

She sat up like a spring come loose, blinking furiously to dispel the drowsiness from her eyes. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Mishal was already standing with his sword drawn. The bushes around the glade rustled and she saw a flash of a shadow racing through the trees.

And then the wolves sprang out, in near perfect harmony.

She was on her feet, Mishal shoving her back, as one leapt towards them. She had never seen a wolf before and hadn’t ever expected to. Several of them were half as tall as she was, with gaping jaws and sharp, dripping fangs.

But a handful were larger. Huge creatures the size of a well-reared pony, with bright and haunting eyes. There were three, exactly, and their claws were so large and hideous she could see them even buried as they were in the thick grass.

One of them was already on Mishal, teeth sunk into his calf. Mishal brought the hilt of his sword down on the wolf’s head. It yelped and let him go, rearing backwards.

“Isadora, Gracia, Wren, Lena, and Pascal, into the trees!” Margaretta was facing one of the huge wolves, with a pelt of black fur that seemed to collect the mist around it. It came up to near her shoulder. “HIDE!” Margaretta swung at the wolf in a quick blow, which collided. The wolf yelped and snarled, a terrible and ghastly noise that rang in Isadora’s ears.

She couldn’t fight. What good was she now? But she didn’t want to leave Mishal either, who was pressing back, holding his own against his foe. The wolf snarled, teeth bared and sharp.

There was no place for her in battle. Maybe she could throw rocks from the trees. Wolves couldn’t climb trees, so maybe if she got into one…

She raced for the closest patch of thicket. She was halfway to the woods when a weight collided heavy into her side, knocking her to the ground and the air out of her lungs.

The hot breath of the wolf blew against her neck, its claws digging into her ribs and her arms. Her injury from the encounter with the rocs so long ago ached, despite its healing. She raised her arm hard and fast, trying to crack into the wolf with her elbow. It connected. The wolf’s teeth grazed her elbow.

Then the weight was off. She looked up to see Forestter, setting down his foot from kicking the wolf, and holding his axe at the ready. He advanced on the wolf.

She pulled herself up, pain lancing through her side with her breath but not nearly as bad as it had been with her bruised rib.

The sounds of wolf’s yelping and growling filled the glade behind her. She heard the pained cries as one found a mark. Her chest tightened as she clamoured into the trees, no longer aware of where Wren was or how far away from the barrier she was.

She steadied herself not too far into the forest. Nothing bit at her or lunged towards her, so Wren must have been close. Her breathing came fast and hard and she dug her nails into the roots of the tree she lay against. It was dark in the early morning, and the undergrowth she sat on was damp.

Somewhere nearby, in the opposite direction of the glade, she heard a scream. Or it was the best way to describe the sound, as it did not sound fully human. It was bellowing and harsh, like a call or a threaten. She tried to catch any movement in the woods, anything that would betray what had made that noise. The sounds of the battle still rang in her ears, not so far behind her.

Breathe, Isadora. Breathe, and think. You need to help them. Her fingers scrabbled through the bark and dirt and leaves around her, trying to find anything. A heavy rock, something distracting. She peered around the tree, but no wolves had followed her. She was relatively safe, at least for the moment, but her friends were not.

Branches rustled above her, and motion caught her eye towards her left. She stood carefully, and followed it, mindful of the noise of the forest floor. She saw nothing though. There was a great crashing somewhere nearby, but it was muffled by the sounds of the wolves’ ambush.

Then a crack! filled the woods nearby her and she plastered herself to a tree, holding her breath. What good it would do against a wolf’s senses, she wasn’t sure, but perhaps it would be more occupied with the others in the glade.

She tilted her head back into the tree, trying to stifle the noise and the terror pounding in her ears. And as she did, her gaze was drawn skyward, and she froze.

A pair of glowing eyes stared back, widened, and then winked out, as the figure turned and disappeared into the trees.

She tried to approach it, tried to stumble through the trees to follow, but her chase was brought to an abrupt halt.

Isadora was so entranced by what she had seen in the trees, that she only heard the whoosh of something cutting quickly through the air right before the unseen stalker, who roared again with ear-splitting volume, pierced her with a barbed and heavy weight to her back.

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2,272