Chapter 65 – The Tracks

  Ezra’s heart thundered in his chest, every beat loud enough to drown out the rain pattering against the warped wood above. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. His eyes remained locked on the shadows beyond the ragged hole in the shack wall. For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself, like even the air held its breath.

  The wind sighed through the ruined structure, sliding past the edges of broken boards like a whisper between clenched teeth.

  What the hell was that?

  His mind spiralled into a hundred directions at once, each thought elbowing past the last in a stampede of dread.

  A twig snapping could mean anything. A fox. A raccoon. A deer. Something safe.

  No. Don’t think about that. Don’t picture those bodies again.

  You’re panicking. Get a grip.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a beat, teeth grinding as he forced down the rising bile in his throat. He took a breath. It rattled through him like he was hollow.

  Calm down. Think.

  It could’ve been anything. A loose branch falling. The wind. Maybe even a bird if the gods were kind. Hell, maybe it was Marcel. Maybe he’d doubled back.

  Or maybe… it was the Shadowmane.

  His hands curled into fists. His nails dug into his palms through the wet gloves. Focus. Move, Ezra. Standing still gets you killed.

  His legs finally responded, slow and stiff, like thawing joints after a long winter. He turned toward the ruined wall, slipping back through the splintered opening into the gray wash of the downpour.

  The rain hadn’t lessened. If anything, it seemed thicker, like the heavens had decided to squeeze the clouds dry all at once. Mud clung to his boots, each step met with a slurp, dragging at him as if the earth itself wanted to keep him here.

  Every muscle in his body was wound tight. His eyes flicked to every shadow, every swaying tree branch, every movement of wind-rippled leaves. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten until now, how the mist swallowed everything past a few meters.

  And then someone rounded the corner.

  Ezra recoiled, hand flying to the dagger at his side, breath catching in his throat.

  “Whoa! Easy there!”

  Marcel.

  His hood was pulled low over his brow, rainwater sluicing from the folds and dripping down his soaked cloak. His boots squelched in the muck as he stepped closer, completely unaware of the silent storm still raging behind Ezra’s eyes.

  “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Marcel said, brushing a wet lock of hair from his forehead. He glanced past Ezra at the broken shack behind him. “Find anything interesting?”

  Ezra forced himself to breathe. One breath. Then another.

  He wiped a shaking hand down his face, clearing water from his brow. “You little...,” he muttered, voice quiet and frayed. “Yea, back there… in that shack. Three bodies. I wouldn’t go in if I were you. It's horrible. They’re completely mutilated.”

  Marcel’s easy expression froze. He stood straighter.

  “What?”

  Ezra met his gaze, face grim. “Don’t go looking. Trust me. It’s bad.”

  There was a beat of silence. Marcel’s mouth opened, then closed again. He gave a small, solemn nod. “Alright. Then we’re done here.”

  The rain continued to fall as they left the logging site, but neither of them said a word. There was nothing to say.

  By the time they reached the outskirts of the nearby town, the light had faded into a dreary twilight. Buildings lined the street, simple, wooden structures with steep roofs and shuttered windows. Most of the signs were hanging askew, rattling in the wind, their paint flaking under years of use. Lanterns cast golden pools of light onto the puddled road, but the air was still restless.

  People walked quickly. Shoulders hunched. Hoods drawn.

  Ezra caught more than one set of eyes peeking out from behind half-closed curtains.

  The first inn they entered smelled like smoke and damp wool. A fireplace crackled weakly near the far wall, but it barely chased the chill away.

  “Sorry,” the innkeeper said, barely glancing up. “We’re full.”

  The next was smaller, louder, packed with loud voices and clinking mugs. The moment Ezra stepped inside, a girl with flour-streaked cheeks shook her head.

  “No rooms left.”

  The third was no less quiet. A crooked sign swung overhead, reading The Prince’s Arm. The door creaked as Ezra pushed it open. Inside, the lighting was dim, the hearth low, and the air heavy with the scent of candle wax and pipe smoke.

  Behind the counter, an elderly woman in a woollen shawl looked up from her knitting. Her gaze lingered on Ezra’s wet cloak, then flicked to Marcel behind him.

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  “Only got one left,” she said. “Small. One bed.”

  Ezra glanced at Marcel, then stepped forward, already digging into his coin pouch. “We’ll take it.” then turning to Marcel, he said “I’ll have the floor, don’t worry.”

  She nodded once and took the coins with fingers like gnarled twigs. “Fire’s weak,” she warned. “But the roof holds.”

  The room was barely more than a box with a hearth. The bed creaked under Marcel’s weight as he collapsed onto it, soaked boots tossed near the fire. Ezra laid out his bedroll near the wall, still tense despite the supposed safety.

  He didn’t sleep much.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that shack again. The bodies. The gaping hole in the man’s torso. The blood. The stench.

  ***

  Morning came with a pale gray sky and a lingering mist. They sat at a table in the small common room, sipping hot drinks that burned their tongues and tasted like soot and bark.

  “We should find some of the logging crew today,” Marcel said between sips. “Someone must’ve left early, if we know where the operation moved to, we might be able to trace what we’re looking for.”

  Ezra didn’t respond immediately. He swirled the bitter drink in his mug, staring at the tiny flecks that floated near the surface.

  He thought of the tracks near the shack, the ones half-covered in rain and mud. Something heavy had been dragged, probably a person, especially since accompanied by paw prints the size of his face.

  He hadn’t followed them.

  Not yet.

  I might have an idea, he thought, but kept the words behind his lips.

  Not until I’m sure.

  Not until I know what’s out there.

  ***

  The rain had thinned to a low, cold mist, more like breath than water, and it clung to Ezra’s cloak as he crossed the slick cobblestone road toward the town hospital. The building stood a little apart from the others, perched on a slight rise overlooking the clustered rooftops.

  Its stone fa?ade was older than the rest of the town, weather-worn and stained with damp, moss creeping between the foundation stones. A crooked iron lamp burned beside the front door, casting a dim, flickering glow that did little to make the place feel inviting.

  Ezra stepped inside, blinking as warmth and the piercing scent of antiseptic and sterilised surfaces wrapped around him. The interior was dimly lit, the walls painted a faded cream that had seen better years. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and the floorboards beneath his boots creaked with each cautious step.

  The front desk was empty. A few chairs lined the waiting area, hard wooden seats with chipped paint and scratchy cushions. A coughing sound echoed from one of the side halls. Ezra paused for a moment, taking it all in: the way the air felt unnaturally still, the low hum of conversation deeper in the building, the shuffle of feet against worn floors.

  He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. Survivors, maybe. People who had seen it. People who could tell him something.

  He moved further in, following the corridor until he spotted a young nurse emerging from a side room, holding a tray with two steaming mugs and a half-eaten biscuit balanced on the edge.

  “Excuse me,” Ezra said softly.

  She turned, surprised, her eyes flicking from his damp cloak to the worn scabbard at his hip. “You lost, sweetheart?” she asked, voice kind but tired. “You don’t look hurt.”

  “No I’m not. I was at the logging site yesterday. My friend and I—school assignment. I was wondering if any of the loggers were brought here after the... evacuation.”

  Her brow furrowed at that word. “Evacuation, huh,” she muttered. “That what they’re calling it?”

  Ezra’s stomach turned a little. “Is anyone here who saw what happened?”

  The nurse hesitated, then jerked her chin down the hallway. “There are two of ‘em, but I'm not allowed to tell you where, it’s against the law.”

  “This is a bit different, it’s important. I’m here on orders from the guild.”

  “I thought you said it was a school assignment?”

  “Yea well, it’s an assignment to do work in the guild. You know, I'm in the Siyudad academy, just trying to help out.”

  The woman stared, disgusted.

  “Course you are, I bet you wouldn’t doing a thing for us normal folk if you hadn’t been told you had to. Room four. Just be quick, I want you out as soon as you’re done.”

  Ezra thanked her profusely, apologising for the inconvenience and walked slowly down the corridor, the floor sloping slightly downward. He passed two doors on the left, one on the right, and then stopped at the fourth. The door was slightly ajar.

  Inside, a fire crackled in a small hearth on the far wall, its flickering light casting amber shadows across the cramped room. Two men sat near the fire, one in a splinted leg brace with crutches leaned beside his chair, the other wrapped in a thick woollen blanket, his hands still stained with dirt and tree sap. They looked up when Ezra stepped in.

  “You here to poke around, too?” the one with the blanket asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Ezra managed a sheepish smile. “Sort of. My partner and I are trying to understand what happened out there.”

  “You with the Guard?”

  “No, sir. Guild work. We were sent to check the site, but…” He glanced toward the floor, voice dipping. “We found bodies, so we thought we ought to find out what had happened, where the Shadowmane might be. Really anything useful would be nice.”

  Both men went quiet.

  Then the man with the broken leg exhaled slowly. “Yeah. That tracks.”

  Ezra moved to a wooden stool near the hearth and sat carefully, hands clasped together. “You two were there when it happened?”

  The man in the blanket nodded. “Name’s Gerrin. That’s Routh.” He motioned to the man with the brace. “We were working the east quadrant when it all went to hell.”

  Ezra waited. He didn’t interrupt.

  Gerrin stared into the flames. “No warning. No sound. Just... one second it was a normal day, the next, the Shadowmane had appeared. It was odd, middle of the day, still so hard to see. And then screams.” He rubbed his eyes with trembling fingers. “We ran. That’s all there was to do.”

  Routh snorted. “And even that wasn’t enough for some of us.”

  Ezra leaned forward. “Do you know what it was?”

  Routh shook his head. “Big. Fast. Strong. Left claw marks on trees thicker than my waist. Saw it tear through a loader like it was paper.”

  Ezra’s fingers tightened.

  “I was near the break shelter when it showed,” Gerrin added quietly. “Back corner of the yard. I ducked behind a log pile when it came through.”

  Ezra’s heart skipped.

  “The rain was hammering down by then. Visibility was shit. But I saw it, the Shadowmane, run through the shack like it were cardboard. The wooden boards exploded. Whole thing rattled like a toy. It didn’t stay long. Just a minute. Maybe less. But it dragged someone out with it.”

  Ezra’s blood ran cold. “Who?”

  “Guy named Lenny. Big bastard. Used to haul three logs at once, no joke. Thing dragged him like a rag doll.”

  Ezra said nothing for a long moment, eyes locked to the flicker of the firelight.

  So he was right. The shack had been the way out. His gut had been telling him that since he saw the mess inside.

  “Did you see where it went?” Ezra asked, voice low.

  “No,” Gerrin replied. “I was too busy not pissing myself. When it was gone, I ran.”

  Ezra stood after a moment and gave them a shallow nod. “Thanks. This helps. Really.”

  Routh waved a hand. “You kids be careful. That thing’s still out there.”

  As Ezra stepped back into the hall, the nurse from earlier passed him again with another tray, this one carrying bandages and a steaming bowl of what smelled like vegetable stew. He gave her a polite nod, then made his way to the front of the building, boots clicking softly against the old floorboards.

  Outside, the mist had thickened, coating everything in a ghostly sheen. Ezra tugged his cloak tighter around himself and began the walk back toward the inn.

  His thoughts swirled. The image of the shack. The bodies. Lenny’s name echoing in his mind.

  The tracks