Chapter Fifteen: Davriel

An Entity had lived here once. Davriel could sense its remnants, like a lingering scent. The powerful force had distorted reality around it, leaving the location forever changed.

But that power was gone now. Empty as a tomb.

This is wrong, the Entity said. It was here...it was supposed to be here... What has happened?

I don’t know, Davriel thought, kneeling down and dipping his fingers in the water, feeling at the remnants of power. There was nothing here for him to fight. There wasn’t even anything for him to steal.

He looked up, and expressed the prioress’s talent: the ability to see where spirits had been, and then anchor them. It caused him pain, another headache—but it allowed him to see a glowing green residue nearby.

The Whisperers had been here, their trails green, like the prioress had said. And there was something else, something more ancient...a trail that led away, toward Verlasen village. He could distinguish it only because he was familiar with the Entity inside him, and this was similar.

The power had moved. Left, long ago. Perhaps...two decades ago? Maybe a little less. The power couldn’t tell him precisely.

“The thing that lived in the Bog is gone,” he said. “And has been for years.”

“What?” Tacenda said from beside him.

“Part of it is inside of you,” Davriel said. “The Entity of the Bog resided here for centuries, infusing everything in the area with its scent. It seeped into your souls—like poison getting into bodies through the groundwater—and tied your people to it. So whoever has that power is controlling the geists.”

This is bad, the Entity said within him. I was not expecting to face a host who is trained in the power, using it to magnify their talents. We can still win, but it will be dangerous.

“They left me alone,” Tacenda said. “Because...”

“Because the geists can sense the power of the Bog inside you,” Davriel said. “They likely mistook you for their master. I would have thought you could control them, but for some reason your song doesn’t do so.”

Davriel frowned as Miss Highwater approached, rustling the underbrush. “So where does that leave us?” she asked.

“Worried,” Davriel said. “Why would the Entity leave the Bog?”

“It was afraid,” Tacenda whispered as she knelt beside the waters, her eyes looking glassy.

“Afraid?” Davriel said. “What could cause something so powerful to be afraid?”

“Faith,” she whispered.

“What—”

“Cane!” Crunchgnar shouted.

Davriel spun back toward the carriage, where Crunchgnar had pulled out his sword. He thrust the weapon toward the roadway. “We have a problem! Get over here!”

Davriel scrambled to the carriage, trailed by Miss Highwater. Crunchgnar’s lantern light didn’t reach far into the night, but it didn’t need to, for the geists approaching along the road gave off a sickly green illumination. There were hundreds of them, their jaws drooping, their faces distorted and inhuman. They flowed through trees and brush, advancing with a steady gait.

One disjointed figure near the front lifted its finger, pointing toward Davriel, and its mouth further extended in a silent screech.

Dozens of dead eyes locked on him. Then their mouths twisted in turn as—one by one—they recognized him.