“Oh, well, this is positively peaceful,” Puck commented, gazing down the grassy slope. “Until those statues come to life and try to squish us, anyway.”

  “Do not concern yourself with those, Goodfellow.” With a flash of gray fur, Grimalkin leaped onto a rock, the moonlight shining off his plumed tail as it waved back and forth. “The statues are not the things you need to worry about.”

  A shivering howl echoed over the plains, making me shiver. I hadn’t forgotten about the Wailing One, but the agonized sobbing would ebb and flow with the night, fading away for several minutes before it returned, stronger and louder than before. The eerie cry drifted on the wind, seeming to come from the distant jagged peaks on the horizon.

  “The Soulshard Mountains,” Gilleas said as he strode forward, his hollow gaze on the distant peaks. “That is our next destination. We will need to use caution while crossing the plains, however. This used to be Pale Rider territory. I am not certain any of them are still around, but these are their hunting grounds, so let us be careful.”

  “What are these Pale Riders?” Keirran asked as we made our way down the slope onto the plains. A cold breeze hissed through the grass, blowing away the smell of rot that clung to my hair from the Rattling Wood. I inhaled the icy sharpness, feeling it burn my throat and lungs, strangely cleansing in a way.

  “Exactly what they sound like,” Varyn told Keirran. “They’re elite hunters that used to roam these lands, searching for prey. Completely ruthless, utterly unmerciful. But don’t worry, they never appear on clear nights. The only time you’ll see them, briefly, before they kill you, is when the fog rolls in.”

  I glanced at the clear night sky. There didn’t seem to be a trace of fog in the air or in the rolling hills, though I knew how quickly that could change in Faery. “Let’s hope the weather holds, then.”

  We started across the plains. The bitterly cold wind blew across the grass and howled as it passed through giant stone structures, mingling with the constant, distant cries of the Wailing One. I found myself wishing for my furred, glamour-lined coat, or at least a hooded cloak, as the breeze easily sliced through cloth and turned my skin numb. Still, I had been to Tir Na Nog and Winter’s territory many times, where any non-Winter faery was never warm, no matter how many layers they had on. If I could spend an entire Elysium in Mab’s absurdly frigid palace, I could endure the slightly freezing winds of Evenfall.

  “Brr,” Puck said. He gave an exaggerated shiver, rubbing his arms. “Has anyone else’s nose gone numb? No? Just me, then?” He sighed and shook his head. “Man, I miss the sun. I don’t know how you Evenfey can stand never seeing that giant ball of glorious warmth.” He closed his eyes and flung out his arms, as if feeling the sunlight on his face, then dropped them with a sigh. “I guess you don’t know what you’re missing, but still.”

  Other Nyx cocked her head at him. “What makes you think we’ve never seen the sun?” she asked.

  “Uh, because I’ve never seen it here, ever?” Puck replied. “Because everything is always dark and gloomy and dead-of-night spooky? Because a giant ball of fire is kinda hard to miss, and it never seems to rise over this creepy land of nightmares? Also, you yourself told me you were a nocturnal fey who didn’t like the sun. Or, at least, other you did.” He faltered, looking guiltily at both Nyxes now. “I mean, I remember a conversation where someone told me they lost their magic in the sun.”

  “That is true,” our Nyx said, sounding faintly amused. “But that doesn’t mean I never saw the sun in Evenfall.”

  “Not all nightmares take place in the dark,” Gilleas added, turning his skull head to look at Puck. “Some parts of Evenfall are very sunny and bright. The Lake of Reflections, for example. Or Maw-burrough, the city of tongues. At least, they would be, if they still exist. I admit, I have not been to either in...centuries?” He scratched the bottom of his jaw with his talons. “I have been underground for far too long.”

  “Well, I’d say you need to get out more, get some sun on your face, but...ya know.” Puck shrugged. “Seeing as that’s not an option, at least you’re getting some air. Some fresh, invigorating, freeze-your-balls-off air, that is. Which might not last for much longer, because I think I see fog coming in behind us.”

  Everyone stopped and turned around. Sure enough, in the distance, a thick blanket of fog was creeping steadily over the rolling hills. It was coming fast, far faster than normal fog. I glanced behind us and saw the plains stretching away in every direction. There were no trees, no large rocks or anything that resembled cover.

  “Can we outrun it?” Keirran wondered.

  Varyn glanced at him with narrowed eyes. I remembered his words to Other Nyx in the library and suspected the Evenfaery was waiting for us to run away. “No, that’s what they want,” he told Keirran. “To separate us so we become lost in the fog, and they can pick us off one by one. No one has been able to outrun the Pale Riders once they’ve caught their scent. You can flee if you want, but they’ll cut you down in a heartbeat. Our best option is to stand and fight.”

  Ash immediately pulled his weapon, and the chill of the ice blade joined the sharp wind. “How many?” he asked.

  Nyx called her moonlight daggers to her hands, as did Other Nyx a moment later. “Probably a dozen,” Other Nyx said. “Maybe more. The riders always hunt in packs.”

  “If there is a group of them, then we’ll need to defend from all sides,” Ash went on. “Everyone, stand in a circle. Back-to-back. Gilleas can be in the center, unless he wishes to fight.”

  “No, no.” The Evenfaery immediately slid to the center of the ring. “I am a scholar and a historian—I have never been a warrior. I will leave the violence to those better suited for it than I.”

  “Are these Nightmares?” Keirran wondered, turning to stand beside Nyx and Puck, his blade held in front of him. I stood next to Ash, Puck on my other side, and took a calming breath to prepare for the battle ahead. The fog was very close now, though I couldn’t hear anything within the blanket of white. The Pale Riders, whatever they were, made no noise at all as they came.

  Other Nyx shook her head. “They’re Evenfey,” she replied. “But we haven’t seen the Pale Riders in a long time. We don’t know if they’ve changed, gone mad, or have become lesser Nightmares. No one has ever met them outside of the fog.”

  “Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” Puck said as the edge of the fog bank swept toward us. “’Cause here they come.”

  I braced myself as the sea of white rolled over us, damp and cold. Misty tendrils landed on my skin, clinging like chilly spiderwebs. Sounds were muffled, and even the screams of the Wailing One seemed to come from very far away. I peered into the swirling white, but other than the vague shapes of broken statues, I couldn’t see anything in the mist.

  And then, a section of fog seemed to disentangle from the rest. Before I even knew what was happening, it resolved itself into some strange, four-legged beast with wispy white fur that floated around it. It was vaguely doglike, but its head and muzzle were hidden beneath its fur, though I thought I saw a flash of very sharp, pointed fangs as it swung toward me. A figure sat atop the beast, wrapped in pale cloth, its long arms covered in strips of gauze so that no skin was visible through the wrappings. Much like its mount, its head was nearly impossible to see through the cloth that had been wrapped around it, but long silvery hair emerged between the strips and floated around its face. It carried a spear in one hand, the point angled toward the ground as it materialized from the fog.

  Its appearance was so sudden that I barely got my sword between myself and the silent beast that emerged from the mist. But before I could either attack or defend, the creature bounded past me, vanishing into the curtain of white once more.

  Another rider came out of the fog; it too went leaping past us to be swallowed by the mist. I caught flashes of movement as they circled us, bounding in and out of the fog like fish through water, but they weren’t attacking.

  “Harrying tactics,” Keirran murmured, somewhere at my back. “Is this normal for them?”

  From within the circle formed by our bodies, Gilleas blew out a raspy breath. “I don’t know,” he answered, sounding faintly exasperated by the fact. “I didn’t think to research the Pale Riders before we began our journey.”

  “This feels more like they’re testing us,” Ash murmured. His voice was calm, but the body next to mine was coiled to strike at a moment’s notice. His eyes constantly scanned the swirling fog. If anything got too close or came out of the fog at him, it would meet the lethal edge of an ice blade, and probably would be dead before it realized what had happened. “They’re probing our defenses, trying to find where we’re the weakest.”

  Several more riders passed us, bounding out of the fog, just out of reach of our weapons. They were very fast, and in the swirling mist, it was impossible to predict where they’d come from next. Briefly, I wondered how different this encounter would be if we had our magic. If Puck could disperse the fog with a strong wind, if Ash and Keirran were able to freeze the riders in their tracks, and if I could send out a lightning strand that would ricochet to each and every one of them. Still, none of them were attacking yet. Maybe this didn’t need to end in violence, after all.

  “What do you want?” I called into the roiling mists around us. “If you aren’t going to attack, stop bouncing around and talk to us. We mean no harm, but we will defend ourselves if we have to.”

  The frantic swirling of the mist gradually calmed. Slowly, it began receding, coiling back until it revealed a circle of Pale Riders surrounding us. There were at least a dozen, nearly identical, pale hair and fur floating around them in an ethereal manner.

  One of the mounts padded forward. Its rider was a little taller than the others, wearing a helm whose top half resembled a wolf skull. Cold blue eyes peered down at me through the strips covering its face, the pupils vertical slits like a cat’s.

  “You are not afraid.” The rider’s voice was as faint and wispy as the tendrils of fog surrounding us. “You do not fear the riders. Your pack is strong, but you do not attack. Why?”

  “There is no need,” I told it. “We are not your enemies. But we have to cross these lands to reach the mountains beyond.”

  “Those are cursed peaks,” the rider whispered. “You will find more dangerous things than riders wandering those crags. Do you not hear the screams? The Wailing One sees all who would enter her territory.”

  “We know,” I told it. “But we still need to reach the Howling Peaks. If you let us pass, we’ll be on our way.”

  The rider’s mount stepped forward. Ash tensed beside me, and I noted that the beast’s front paws had splayed fingers tipped with extremely long black claws. Its head rose, strands of fur parting to reveal a long muzzle and curved fangs. It snuffed at me like a curious dog, and through the tangle of fur that covered its face, I saw the glimmer of an icy-blue eye.

  “You are not from Evenfall,” the rider said as its mount stepped back again. “You are the outsiders we have heard about.” Its head turned slightly, observing the rest of my companions behind me. “Our Whisper wishes to speak with you. We were told to search the Mistless Valley until we found the ones from the other side. Will you come with us to see her? I can promise no hunter in my pack will harm you while you are within our territory.

  “The Whisper speaks only when it is of great importance,” the rider went on as I hesitated. “She is silent until there is something urgent that must be said. That she asked for you means that it is vital for you to speak with her.”

  “Where is your territory?” Gilleas wondered. “In what I have read of the Pale Riders—which is not much, understand—I’ve never heard of them having a permanent home.”

  “We do,” said the rider. “It is not far.”

  Puck snorted. “Oh, well, that’s very nonspecific. And not suspicious at all.”

  “We will not force you to come with us,” the rider went on, “but know that you will not be able to find your way out of the fog. Without us, you will wander, and may never find your way back to the Mistless Valley.”

  “Um, you know that ultimatum is just as bad the other, right?”

  I looked at Ash, who gave a tiny nod. It seemed we weren’t going to leave the valley unless we agreed to the terms of the riders. “Very well,” I said. “Take us to your Whisper, then. If she wants to help us, we’ll take all we can get.”

  The rider’s mount sidled forward, until I could reach out and touch the wispy body. The long fur drifted around me, shockingly light and silken as it brushed my skin. Without any noticeable command from its rider, the beast lay down in front of me. It was a large creature; even lying down, I was eye-level with its shoulder. The rider itself peered down from the creature’s back, then extended one thin, bandaged arm, fingers uncurling as it held them out to me.

  I stifled a grimace. “I don’t suppose we could have our own mounts?” I asked as politely as I could, hoping I wouldn’t offend them. It wasn’t that I distrusted the riders, not exactly, but sitting on a beast in front of a strange faery was pressing the bounds of comfort. “I would much rather have control of my own mount, if possible.”

  The rider didn’t lower his arm. “They would not listen to you,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “To tame a mistwarg, you must weave your own essence with theirs on the night of a dark moon. We do not control them with bridle or bit or saddle—they simply know what we want and execute it. If you try to mount a mistwarg without this bond, it will either vanish, or it will tear you apart. But do not worry. You and your companions will be perfectly safe with us, I assure you.”

  I sighed, giving Ash an apologetic look. He didn’t look happy about the situation, but he met my gaze and nodded. Turning back, I reached out, grasped the rider’s long, icy fingers, and let him lift me onto the back of the mistwarg.

  Settling in front of the rider, I squeezed with my knees and sank both hands into long, pale fur. The creature beneath me didn’t feel entirely solid; I could see the fur in my hands, feel the tickle of feathery tips brushing against my skin, but I didn’t seem to be holding on to anything but air.

  Glancing around, I saw the rest of my group seated atop the mistwargs with varying degrees of tension and discomfort. Gilleas in particular looked extremely uncomfortable, his tall, lanky form and spindly legs making him appear like some kind of giant insect crouched atop the warg.

  I wonder what Grimalkin thinks of this. I doubted we would see the cat while we were in the presence of the riders, and I really couldn’t blame him.

  My mistwarg rose to its feet without so much as a lurch. “Do not worry,” its rider said. “Rend is fast, but I will not let you fall.” The mistwarg’s head tilted, one blue eye gazing back at us at the sound of its name. “Rend,” the rider said again, and a long arm slid firmly around my waist. “Home.”

  The mistwarg sprang forward, and I lurched backwards as my grip on the creature’s fur suddenly came loose, my fingers passing through the strands like they weren’t there. Clenching my jaw, I leaned forward, trying to grip with my knees and keep my balance without needing to grab anything. After the initial lunge, however, the mistwarg set a steady, bounding lope through the fog. It made no noise, no grunts or pants or sounds of paws hitting the ground. Both warg and rider were as silent as the surrounding fog, as was the rest of the pack behind us. I had to keep glancing over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t alone, that the rest of them were still there, as we continued our eerie ride through the mist.

  15

  THE WHISPER’S WARNING

  The fog didn’t let up. No matter how far we traveled, it remained at the same opacity: thick and muffling. It reminded me of the Between—endless fog and mist, completely silent surroundings. But unlike the Between, this wasn’t an endless void. I could see shapes in the fog, scattered trees and bushes, large outcroppings of rock, broken statues half-buried in the grass. The ground beneath the silent pads of the warg was grassy and solid. I began to wonder if the mist traveled with the Pale Riders, appearing whenever they did, or if we had somehow slipped into another world, passing through the fog into their realm.

  After an indefinite amount of time, I glanced down and noticed that the thick grass of the plains had been replaced with shattered rock and dirt. Jagged cliffs and stony outcroppings rose into the air, towering over us. It seemed we had left the plains and entered a ravine or a mountainous region. I wondered how close we were to the Howling Peaks. I could still hear the chilling cries of the Wailing One through the fog, though it was impossible to tell how far away they were or even which direction they were coming from.

  The rocky walls got closer as the path beneath us grew even more narrow. Sometimes, the passage was so tight I could have reached out and run my fingers along the stone. I caught fleeting glimpses of other paths in the mountain, cracks or crevasses snaking off into the mist. Once, I was almost sure I saw something enormous and many-legged, crouched between two craggy walls as we rode by, making my stomach lurch. I tried not to imagine what kind of Nightmares roamed these treacherous paths or crawled along the walls overhead. If I had just seen what I thought I’d seen, Puck would not be a happy camper.

  “Where are we?” I asked the Pale Rider. My voice echoed weirdly in the silence of the canyon, muffled by the fog and crushing walls.

  “The maze,” was the reply. It didn’t elaborate.

  The gaping mouth of a cave opened in front of us. My heart nearly stopped, but the mistwarg bounded straight into the opening without slowing down, plunging into absolute darkness.

  I clutched the warg’s fur in my fists, forgetting that it was insubstantial and feeling it dissolve between my fingers. I couldn’t see anything between the darkness and clinging fog, but the rider didn’t seem concerned as its mount plowed ahead, swerving and making turns without commands, the walls and ceiling swooping dangerously close. Thankfully, the wild ride didn’t last long; a hazy sphere of light appeared ahead of us, showing the end of the tunnel, and I took a breath of relief as we sprang through.