Book One – Chapter 14

But his knees buckled. Without warning, the world tilted and he collapsed in a heap. A sudden, vile sickness surged through him, twisting his insides into knots. Panic flickered, then flared into full flame, as he clawed at his chest with frozen fingers, searching for some hidden wound or injury. He probed frantically, but his numbed hands found no bleeding, no breaks, no external sign of harm. Perplexed, he writhed where he lay, twisting and turning as though movement might unearth an answer, straining to listen, to feel — to find anything at all, yet nothing revealed itself. The sickness churned through him, relentless and formless. It offered no explanation, only agony.

With great effort, he hauled himself upright, leaning heavily against the icy wall for support. His breath rasped in uneven, ragged gasps as he tried to gather his bearings. The Full Dark was no place to be alone. The Full Dark was death. He knew this with absolute certainty. He needed the horde, and they needed him. And yet, as soon as he turned towards their direction, the sickness struck again, fiercer than before. It drove him to his knees, doubling him over as spasms wracked his body. This was no mere nausea. It was complete rejection. His body shivered uncontrollably as the cold surged inward, hollowing him out, stripping him of all strength and stealing all of the astonishing warmth within in a flash.

Panic surged, an feral roar of instinct. The Full Dark was a predator, and he was prey. He had to return to the horde. Yet his body defied him. Each attempt to turn back met with stronger waves of surging sickness. It battered him into submission, leaving him retching and broken on the frozen ground.

Nagrak did not understand. He did not draw the connection between action and reaction, between his movements and this violent rejection. He simply did not get it, and so, with the stubbornness of the dumb and desperate, he tried again. And again. And again. Each attempt ended the same —his body convulsing, his strength abandoning him until eventually, he collapsed entirely. He vomited, violently and repeatedly, his frame shuddering with exhaustion and defeat.

The staff never left his hand. Even now, it lay beside him, a silent sentinel.