Page 22 of Song of the Dark Wood

Rowan didn’t dare turn toward the restless stirring of the spirits for fear of making eye contact with one of them and violating yet another rule.

Never meet the eyes of the dead or the monsters that lurk in the shadows.

If they looked into her eyes, they’d recognize that she was alive and could possess her. The song was enough to lure them in. It was a reminder of life meant to lead them to Wolf’s Keep, where they’d find everlasting peace or judgment in the Underlands.

Cade trudged along, unusually silent, beside Rowan. The lack of incessant chatter from him was almost as unnerving as the Dark Wood itself.

She wondered if Orla was among the souls parading behind her and if the Wolf had killed her like everyone else seemed to think. Rowan’s mind spun as she continued to lead the procession of souls.

A growl to her left ripped her from her thoughts. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she had the distinct feeling of being watched. It was almost impossible not to turn and look.

She froze as the third rule popped into her head.

Never bleed in the Dark Wood.

Rowan frantically checked her palms and knees for a wound from her fall. Her shoulders sagged in relief when she realized there was none.

“Easy there, Row. Take a breath and start singing,” Cade said.

She shuddered as the growling grew louder. The Crone insisted that old magic protected the trail, and Rowan wouldn’t be harmed as long as she stuck to it because the beasts of thedark couldn’t wander beyond that boundary. If that was the case, it meant the Wolf had killed Orla and Rowan was about to meet her friend’s murderer. It made little sense. Orla had insisted the Wolf wasn’t what people thought he was.

Rowan drew up short. Perhaps he’d killed Orla simply for sharing what little she did with Rowan and Aeoife. It was technically a violation of the rules.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her mouth went dry. It hadn’t even been helpful information. It held no details at all, only meant to make her less afraid. Could the Wolf really be so vindictive that he punished Orla by taking her life for that?

“What’s wrong?” Cade asked.

“Nothing,” Rowan said, quickening her pace. She raised her voice even louder to drown out the growls around her. She was going to march right up to the keep, deliver the souls, and then she was going to figure out what happened to Orla.

Moonlight cut through the skeletal branches above, creating monstrous shadows on the forest floor.

“Rowan.”

The voice was faint and came from just over her left shoulder.

“Orla?” Rowan asked. Her anger evaporated, leaving her with nothing but fear and confusion.

“Yes, it’s me, but don’t look,” Orla whispered.

“I was worried that you wouldn’t—” Rowan choked on her relief. She’d been afraid that Orla’s soul hadn’t been set free, that it would be trapped or had wandered into the woods aimlessly along with the others, destined to become a wraith.

“I’m okay now. I just wanted you to know I’m here,” Orla said. “Keep singing.”

Rowan sang a few more lines. They came out tight and tired as she tried to project around the lump in her throat.

“You look good, Orla,” Cade said, giving her a wave.

Orla let out a surprised giggle. “Thanks, Cade.”

The three of them walked side by side a few more paces.

“What happened to you?” Rowan asked.

“I don’t know. It’s all a blank spot,” Orla said. “The Wolf told me once that souls that have traumatic deaths don’t remember so that they can find peace.”

Rowan could see her friend out of the corner of her eye. She looked like herself, just with a fainter, less corporeal form. Her blonde hair still moved as if rustled by the breeze.

“He did this to you. I’m going to ask him why,” Rowan said.

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