The Way We Fall

Chapter 165 (Roche)

TW: Descriptions of t0rtur3 and vi0l3nce.

Roche and Ivie reached the valley by midday. Red sand crunched beneath the hooves of their nervous horses. The sun beamed down on them, hot and heavy, drawing thick beads of sweat to Roche's skin. She grimaced, wiping the droplets away futilely. The ridiculously warm and dry wind did nothing to beat away the heat. If Ivie wasn't beside her, she would have used an incantation to cool herself down.

The wind snaked past them. A strange sound filled the air, an eerie, haunting whistling that made goosebumps rise on Roche's arms despite the heat. She stiffened immediately, waiting for an arrow or something to come rushing at her, but Ivie remained perfectly calm. The placid knight merely slowed down her horse.

"It's the sand," Ivie explained, her dark skin gleaming with sweat. The knight pointed to the coarse, rustic grains around them, "The grains near the valley are a strange shape. When the wind blows against them, you get that sound. It used to be a tourist attraction but now the locals consider it to be the cursed singing of damned souls."

Roche shivered. The sound did sound strangely high pitched, bordering between a melody and a scream. "Pleasant," Roche muttered.

Ivie smiled faintly, reaching back for her waterskin only to find it empty. Roche held out hers.

"Does this mean we're close to the valley?" she asked as Ivie drank deeply, heated by her thick armour. Roche had no idea how the knight wasn't boiling alive.

Ivie nodded, wiping her lips before handing back the waterskin. "It shouldn't be long now."

Roche squinted at the shifting dunes of sand, her eyes dry and teary from fending off sand. She didn't see anything that looked remotely valley-like. After a few minutes of riding, she was ready to ask Ivie to check if they were heading in the right direction when a new sound joined the ghostly cries of the sand.

Roche nearly didn't hear it at first. It was faint, like a mosquito whizzing past her ear. But then it got louder. Throatier. Distinctly human. The sound warbled through the air, saturated with agony.

A chill went up Roche's spine as she realised it was the sound of someone screaming. Someone female. Her heart lodged in her throat, panic whiting out her mind.

"Verita," she whispered, just as the valley came into view. The sand tapered off into thick shelves of red rock that suddenly dropped off with a jagged edge, dropping into valley so deep that Roche could hear grains of sand whistling endlessly as they fell off the edge. She tried leading her horse to the edge, but her mare dug in its hooves, refusing to near the edge.

"Come on," Ivie told her gently as Roche leaped off her horse and peered over the edge, gaping at the drop and the mountains of irregular rocks below. She didn't see Verita anywhere, but the screams were echoing off the valley walls, getting louder by the moment. "We need to keep moving this way."

Roche squeezed her eyes shut as Verita's cries stuttered, traded for a sharp cry.

"Please!" the librarian was begging hoarsely, "Stop this!"

A low thrum of a voice replied, the words too soft to echo in the valley. She and Ivie sucked in a breath simultaneously.

"Prince Finnegan," Ivie gasped, glancing at Roche with wide eyes, "He's the one that took her?"

Roche grimaced, jumping when Verita's screams began anew. The sound crawled into her ears, rattling around in her mind. She wanted to vomit.

"We need to hurry," she muttered, locking away her horror as adrenaline raced through her like a drug, "Verita's in trouble."