Chapter 9 The Ink Of The Ancestors
795 Words
The cave was heavy with the scent of damp stone and the sharp, metallic tang of the Griffin’s feathers. I sat huddled near the small fire Dominic had built, the orange light dancing across his pale features. To anyone else, he looked like a predator—a silent, lethal statue. To me, he was the only thing keeping the Nightmare Forest at bay.
My stomach let out a treacherous growl, a reminder that berries and adrenaline weren't enough to sustain a Slayer on the run. Beside me, Dominic’s posture was rigid. I could see the slight tension in his jaw—the quiet, gnawing hunger of a prince who hadn't fed in days.
Suddenly, a heavy thump echoed from the ledge. The ground vibrated, and the familiar, sharp scent of ozone and pine hit the air. I scrambled for my dagger, but Dominic caught my wrist. "Wait," he whispered. "Look."
The Griffin landed with a soft clatter of talons, its golden feathers shimmering like coins. In its grip was a forest buck, still kicking weakly. The Great Bird let out a low, clicking sound and nudged the deer toward us with its curved beak before retreating to the ledge to preen.
"The bird of prey protects the nest," I whispered, the words of the old lullaby rushing back. "Dominic... he’s feeding us."
Dominic looked at the buck, his obsidian eyes flickering with a hint of red—the primal hunger surfacing. "Fresh blood for me," he murmured, his voice strained. "And meat for you."
"Go," I said softly, touching his arm. "I'll get the fire and the journal ready."
While Dominic tended to his own dark necessity, I busied myself with the fire, stoking it until the flames licked the stone ceiling. Once a portion of the meat was roasting on a makeshift spit, I reached into my satchel. I pulled out the leather-bound journal, its cover worn smooth. Tonight, I finally needed to hear my mother’s voice.
Dominic moved closer, looking restored, his skin less like marble and more like living flesh. He sat beside me, his shoulder pressing against mine as I opened the first page.
“To my little Firebird,” the ink began. My heart did a painful somersault. I began to read the full poem aloud, the words echoing off the cave walls as the Griffin watched us like a silent gargoyle.
"Golden wheat and silver dew,
The sky is dressing just for you.
The shadows trail, the night is deep,
But firebirds never sleep.
Sleep for now in your wooden bed,
Until the morning light.
When the Phoenix mark has burned and woken,
And the Prize has been Chosen.
Climb the glass where clovers grow,
And sing the song to trolls below.
Their heavy eyes will drift to rest,
The bird of prey protects the nest.
Beware the giant’s hungry roar,
And the creeping eye upon the floor."
I stopped, my breath hitching. "The 'glass' was the mountain, Dominic. And the trolls... she knew. She knew every step we’ve taken."
Dominic leaned over, his eyes scanning the next lines. "The emerald breath of a hollow slave, is broken by the gold and brave."
"Emerald is green," I mused, my mind racing back to the stories of the gnomes. "Like the troll blood? Or something else in the forest?"
"But look at this part," Dominic said, pointing to the line about the creeping eye. "If the 'bird of prey' is our friend, then the 'eye' is the enemy. It means we’re being watched, Sindel. Even here."
I looked down at the uneven cave floor. The shadows cast by the fire seemed to stretch and crawl. "Beware the giant’s hungry roar," I whispered. "Is there something bigger than a troll out there?"
I closed the book and pressed it against my chest, the warmth of the roasted meat and the revelation of the poem filling me with a new kind of strength. We weren't just fugitives anymore. We were the ones breaking the chains.
"We aren't just running, are we?" I asked, looking into the fire.
Dominic reached out, his cool fingers cupping my jaw. His thumb brushed the Phoenix mark on my neck. "No," he said firmly. "We are following the map. If your mother said there is a 'creeping eye,' we have to be ready for it."
I leaned my head onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of the journal settle into a new purpose. The Nightmare Forest was still screaming outside, but for the first time, I didn't feel like a Prize. I felt like a daughter with a mission. And I was ready to burn
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