Beside her, Tristan remained silent and tense, moving quickly and glancing constantly around. His stress triggered her own. She didn't dare look at her surroundings, but stared straight ahead and willed them to pass through without incident.
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It should have been a fairly pleasant walk through the valley. The path was flat and wide, made of little pebbles that made Dylan think of country walks down long abandoned railway lines. It wound its way gracefully down the trough between the two hills. The sides did not feel confined or restricted, but gently undulated upward, covered with short grass and wild flowers. It was picture perfect. Or would have been if it wasn't for the sheer cliff walls that erupted from the grassy slopes. The cliffs curved inwards as they rose up and pinched the sky until it was little more than a narrow slit of light that wasn't quite bright enough to banish the shadows that pooled across the ground. Darkness enveloped this place. Dylan shivered as the cold shade embraced her.
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In her peripheral vision she could just make out the swooping blur of bats. No, not bats, she realised. Wraiths. They scythed down the rocky face then circled low overhead. Dylan gripped Tristan's fingers tightly, trying not to look at them.
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Tristan nodded his head, his expression grim.
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It sounded like the gentle rumbling of a thousand whispers. Although there were no distinct words, the sound was nonetheless menacing.
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"Can you hear that?" she asked tersely.
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"What is it?" she warbled. Her head jerked about as she scanned the sky, the cliffs, hunting for the source of the noise.
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"Not from above," Tristan told her. "It's beneath us. Listen to the ground."
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It seemed a strange request to Dylan, but she tried to concentrate on sounds that might be coming from underneath her feet. At first the only sound she could hear was the crunching of their feet disturbing the gravel and small pebbles that littered the trail, but now that she was listening for it, she realised the eerie hissing was, in fact, coming from beneath them.
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But she couldn't ignore them. She found herself listening for the familiar but haunting howling that she now associated with the demons, but there was no high-pitched wailing echoing in the air. There were, however, other noises.
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"What sort of opportunity do they need?" she choked out.
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"Why?" Dylan whispered.
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"What can we do?"
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"Tristan what's happening?" she asked, her voice almost inaudible even to herself.
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"As soon as we're deep enough in shadow, they'll strike. They don't need night, not here." His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a note of panic there that frightened Dylan more than the words he was speaking.
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He barked a humourless laugh. "Nothing."
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"The demons. They're gathering beneath us. As soon as they spot an opportunity to attack, they'll rise up in a mass. It's what they do here. Always."
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"We're in the heart of the wasteland," Tristan explained. "This is where they lurk, thousands of them. The shadows almost never die here. They know they'll get their chance."
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"Shouldn't we run?" Dylan was not a strong runner. Though thin, she was not fit. Exercise had never been part of her daily routine, and enforced PE lessons had been torture. She had always insisted that she would only run if she were being chased. This situation seemed to qualify, she thought ruefully.
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"Not till we have to. Save your energy for when you really need it," he said, smiling slightly. The smile didn't last long.
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"Where will you be?" she whispered anxiously.
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"Hold on to me, Dylan. Don't let go. And when I tell you to run -- run. You follow the path, and when you're through the valley there's another cottage. You run towards it and you don't look back. Once you're through the door, you're safe."
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"Right beside you," he said grimly.
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Dylan's eyes were wide with panic. She tried to focus them on the path in front of her. Her hand was wrapped so tightly around Tristan's that her fingers were throbbing. The rumbling seemed to grow louder, and it appeared as if the ground was bubbling, melting to let the demons through. It took a moment for her eyes to make sense of the pattern on the ground, then she realised that it was shadows. Dark shadows. Her breathing began to come in shallow, ragged gasps as she saw that the valley was darkening around them, the cliffs pressing in more tightly. They were deep within the heart of it. How long before the demons broke free?
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For a heartbeat she felt as if time had stopped, suspended on the brink of chaos. Every nerve in her body was stretched tight, adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her muscles seemed to tingle, ready to respond to her commands. She took a long, deep breath, and the air rushing into her lungs thundered in her ears.
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The air seemed to chill instantly. A gust of wind drove up the valley and lifted Dylan's hair around her face. The breeze whispered in her ears, echoing the noise from the ground, and she picked out the distinct howling of other demons, keening somewhere above them. They were gathering on all sides.
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Before she could exhale, before she could blink, time sprang back into being and everything seemed to happen at once. The ground smoked as countless demons erupted through the surface like black, wispy snakes, twisting and writhing in the air and hissing threateningly. The howling from above descended from the sky, diving and weaving around her. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The air was black with wraiths, blinding her. Dylan simply gaped; this was nothing like she'd seen before. Her heart turned to ice as one demon glided straight through her chest, snatching inside her before breaking out of her back. Faceless things caught in her hair and tugged and pulled at her, causing needle-like pains in her scalp. Claws grasped at her shoulders and arms, wrenching and hauling at her.
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Run, she repeated to herself. Run! But she couldn't move. Her legs were frozen, as if they had forgotten how to function. She had always laughed scornfully at the victims in horror movies who were paralysed by fright and fell foul of the crazed axe-murdering villain, but here she was, indisputably immobilised by fear.
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A yank on her hand made her stumble into motion, jerking her legs into action. They caught up with her before she fell, and began to pump her forward. Run, run, run, she thought, tearing as fast as she could down the path, one hand glued to Tristan's. The screaming demons still swirled around her, but they appeared unable to get a firm grasp.
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The path laid out the route in front of her, and although she couldn't see the cottage, she knew it couldn't be too far. It had to be close now. She was running at full tilt and knew that she couldn't keep up the pace for long. Her legs were already burning, protesting now at every step. Each time she lifted a foot it felt heavier and heavier. Her breathing came raggedly and unevenly, each intake causing cold, stabbing pains to rip across her chest. Her arms pumped rhythmically, valiantly trying to keep her going, but she was slowing with every stride. The clawing demons were beginning to find purchase, pulling backwards and slowing her further. She knew she would not be able to hold out unless the cottage was very close.
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"Dylan, run!" Tristan's voice broke through the confusion of sound and movement, straight to the centre of her brain.
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"Tristan! Tristan, help!" She coughed feebly between breaths.
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"Dylan, run!" She heard him holler. He was no longer beside her. Where had he gone? She didn't dare turn round to search for him in case she fell. Instead she concentrated on doing what he'd told her: running. Running as hard and as fast as she could.
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"Come on, come on, come on, come ON!" she muttered under her breath, ordering her body to keep going. Ignoring the pain, she moved her legs even faster, forcing them to sprint the remaining metres. The door was already open, inviting her in.
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Something pulled on her hand hard enough to almost topple her backwards. Dylan yelped as her shoulder was wrenched in its socket, then, a heartbeat later, realised what had happened. Both her hands were clenched into fists. Empty fists.
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What was that? Directly in front of her, about four hundred metres away, was a murky square shape. It had to be the cottage. She sobbed in relief and tried to galvanise her exhausted muscles into one last effort.
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"Tristan, I can see it! Tristan!" But that final thought choked in her throat as several demons dived at her at once and ripped their way into her body. They seemed to have no substance, yet she could feel them grab at her heart. She stuttered and stumbled, finding it hard to control her limbs.
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"No," she gasped. "No, no, please. I'm there! I'm there!"
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Sheer will drove her forward, step by step, towards the open door. Every movement was agony, every breath stabbing pain. Her body screamed at her to stop, to give in, but she determinedly and doggedly pushed on. As she inched closer, the screaming, howling and hissing intensified. The demons doubled their attack, pulling and ripping and scratching at her. They swirled around her face and attempted to blind her eyes. Just a few metres away she fell to her knees, exhausted. Screwing her eyes shut tight, she forced her aching lungs to breathe and began to crawl. The ground was cold under her hands, small stones scraping at her palms and digging into her knees. Move, she thought desperately. Just move.
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Suddenly Tristan's words burst into her head. "You run towards it and you don't look back. Once you're through the door, you're safe." With it came an image of his face, speaking to her earnestly.
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It was impossible to move. Cold hands gripped her insides and twisted, chilling her to the bone and taking her breath away. Every inch of her longed to stop. To lay down on the ground and have the demons pull her gently downward to where it would be dark and she could sleep. A place where she could cease struggling and be at peace.
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"Tristan?" she whispered.
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She knew instantly when she had crossed over the threshold. The noise died away immediately and the cold chill inside her dissolved into a numb ache. Spent, she collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard.
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"Tristan, we made it," she croaked, unable to lift her head from the floor.
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Dylan rolled over onto her back. She lay there for a moment, too scared to open her eyes, afraid of what she might see. Her need to know won out. She forced her eyelids open and surveyed the scene before her.
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He did not answer. And there was no sound of breathing behind her, no movement in the cottage. The ice in her heart returned, multiplied tenfold. She was afraid to turn around.
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No.
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Unable to speak, she let out a pitiful whimper. The doorway was empty, the night outside black.
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Tristan hadn't made it.
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