Page 140 of Starside

He’ll probably be relieved to see me gone.

I paddle and paddle, until that small island and castle become just smudges in the rain. Until the boat roughly washes onto shore. Until my boots crunch against rocks, and I’m climbing a cliff face.

Until I’m through the trees and away from Raker for good.

I guess I’ve found the fucking Storm Woods.

On the map, it looked peculiar. A simple patch of forest with a few added whorls.

In real life, I’m being brutalized by leaves flying in vortexes, roaring winds, rain like hellfire, and branches intent on stabbing me through.

Every step takes enormous effort. I grit my teeth and push against the current, and it’s like pushing against a wall. I feel my energy unspooling.

Shit.

I should find shelter or take my time … but I can’t. Soon Raker will realize I’m gone. And if he really wants this sword, he’ll chase after me.

I’m surprised he didn’t steal it, back in the ruins. Did he think I was too weak to actually make a run for it? Too cowardly?

Did he really think I would just leave it?

It doesn’t matter now. No, what matters is getting the hell away from him.

Sword in hand, I push my way through, eyes alert, looking for any sign of the many beasts that thrive in storms—the ones from the book that are awakened by claps of thunder and energized by spears of lightning. I don’t see any movement beyond the trees being ripped apart by brutal winds.

But I smell it. The metallic, biting taste of magic. I duck behind a trunk still standing. Peer around it, and am struck—

By a smattering of giant leaves. They smother my face, and I gasp in shock, only serving to tighten them around my nose and mouth. I try to pull, but they fasten to my skin as tightly as a mask. I can’t breathe. Panic pounds through my blood, and I claw, scratching up my face in the process, before finally peeling them off. I suck in air, head spinning. They could have suffocated me. It was almost like they tried.

Something is seriously wrong with this forest.

As if in response, thunder rumbles, rattling the woods, rattling my teeth. Fuck. This. I stagger through the tangle of trunks, until they end completely.

I’ve stumbled upon a dirt road through the woods.

The rain is heavier without the cover of treetops, but there’s also less debris for the storm to kick up.

I remember that one ancient road, with the Masks. Are they here? Would they be out in such weather?

I look back at the forest. Then at the path. Time to make a choice.

A lick of fear running down my neck, I take off down the road, desperate to get out of these woods as fast as possible. It’s only when I nearly trip over an errant root that I see the faintest pattern in the dirt. I duck and squint.

They’re hoof marks. Dozens of them, in a line. Some have been washed away by the rain, but others are still perfectly shaped. Fresh, then.

Which means many, many horses were just on this road.

I must have just missed them. Are more coming? I look to either side. Strain to listen. But it’s impossible to hear much beyond the onslaught of weather.

I should go back into the woods … I glance at the trees, at all the brush flying through them, and don’t move a single inch.

Another ground-shaking roll of thunder makes the sky shudder. It’s immediately followed by another roar.

This one comes from right ahead.

My veins turn to ice. There’s a gust of wind hurtling down the road, dredging up all the dirt in its path, stealing peels of bark forming a face spun from roots and leaves and moss and spears of wood as teeth, rushing right at me.

Well, fuck.