Anger keeps me warm as I negotiate the rough road to Porlese. While I understand Lyra will be more effective if she reaches Arc quickly, fact is, her leaving feels akin to abandonment.
Now I understand how she felt when I left her behind in Grenmassin five years ago.
As night falls on my second day alone, I see the lights of Porlese in the distance. Excellent. Action there will stifle this sense of helplessness.
Horin’s voice in my mind will not be silent. The boy continuously screams for help. I call it screaming, but it is more desperation I sense in the connection.
Frowning, I stare into my fire. The night is filled with sounds, but Horin pushes those noises into the background. I attempt to garner location from him, a starting point for my search when I enter the city tomorrow. How is he doing this?
Then, so strong, I nearly fall face first into the flames, an image of a bright yellow rope flicks into my mind. It has intent, as if it seeks to flay me until I am a gibbering wreck. Gasping, I rear back and clutch at myself to check my flesh remains intact.
Darkness settles around me then, in the environment and in my mind. Never have I been this relieved to know the blanket of night in every way.
A hangman’s rope. A whip of manipulation. Yellow is for confusion … and terror.
This is the first time I have seen this image, but the message is clear. Horin is in trouble. Siri is therefore in trouble also. The boy’s youth has opened his mind to the spaces where Delvers operate; this is why I hear him and see his emotions.
Swearing, I douse my fire and take to the road in darkness. They cannot wait longer.