Page 57 of When the Wicked Sing
“Have everything you need?” Spiro asked him as she approached, their voice filled with quiet concern. Kenna handed Mariana a backpack with a small, reassuring smile. The backpack was well-worn, its fabric faded but clearly reliable.
“Yeah,” he grunted, his voice rough around the edges, betraying the tension he tried to hide. His eyes, however, softened when they met Kenna’s.
“You should take a couple of horses,” Kenna offered, her eyes flicking to the stables. “You’ll get there faster.”
Dax shook his head firmly. “Can’t risk the tracks. Besides, you’ll use it as an excuse for me to return them.”
Kenna grinned mischievously. “I mean, it would be the perfect excuse to come back.” Dax shook his head and pulled her close. They hugged each other in a way Mariana had never seen before—one hand behind each other’s head, the other on the back, eyes closed, and foreheads touching.
She averted her gaze, staring at the rays of sunshine breaking through the branches above them, feeling the bittersweet warmth on her skin. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a mosaic of light and shadow onto the forest floor.
She missed her family but couldn’t imagine how Dax felt, knowing he would have no choice but to go years without seeing them again. The thought of separation weighed heavily on her heart, each beat a reminder of the sacrifices they both had to make.
“Be safe. Come home when you can,” Spiro told him, their voice carrying the weight of unspoken fears.
Dax gave them a solemn nod, his eyes shadowed with guilt.
“Mari, it was wonderful to meet you. I wish you luck on your journey and hope our paths cross again.” Spiro took both her hands in theirs, a faint hum of energy coursing through her that instantly made her smile. The touch was comforting, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in her struggles.
“Thank you, Spiro. For everything,” she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. The village leader gave her a warm smile and let go of her hands.
They watched Kenna and Spiro walk back up through the village’s maze of intricately carved and weathered staircases until they disappeared.
Then Dax turned to Mariana, his expression hardening with resolve. “Alright, first things first. I need you to wrap this around your face.” He handed her a long strip of brown fabric. She took it, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. The texture was unpleasant, slightly rough, and thick.
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”
As he led her out of Kythera, he pointed to a field of red flowers growing between the trees. The flowers, vibrant and otherworldly, swayed gently in the breeze, their petals glistening with dew. “Those flowers release a toxin into the air that causeshallucinations if anyone breathes it in. My people don’t feel its effects, but you will. I don’t need you running away and getting lost out here because you think ghosts are attacking you.”
Mariana stared at the flowers, suddenly feeling the weight of the truth. Their beauty masked a deadly danger, a reminder of the deceptive nature of the world around her. “Did you take me through the flowers when you brought me here?”
Dax nodded, inspecting her downcast expression.
Celeste hadn’t visited her in her dreams; it had all been a figment of her imagination. The realization hit her hard, a cold, bitter truth that tightened her throat and made her eyes sting.
She swallowed, her eyes blurring as she brought the rag up to her face and tied it behind her head, obscuring her vision and covering her nose and mouth. The fabric smelled faintly of earth and wood, a grounding scent amid her rising anxiety.
“I got you, just follow me,” Dax said softly, taking her hand. He led them through the forest, his grip firm and reassuring.
The pungent, sweet smell of the flowers, accompanied by the harrowing moans and screeches of the ghosts in her mind, was difficult to ignore. Each step felt heavier, the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on her.
“Mari?” She heard the gentle, sweet voice call her name and began shaking her head. It was Celeste’s voice, achingly familiar, pulling at her heartstrings.
It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—
“Mari, please look at me. I’m right here!” Celeste pleaded. The desperation in her voice was heart-wrenching, a cruel trick of her mind.
No, it wasn’t Celeste, not really. And yet it sounded just like her. The conflict tore at her, a battle between reason and emotion.
Her heart raced. She struggled to keep calm, gripping Dax’s hand tighter. Cold, soft touches skated over her skin despite her thick leather jacket. She shivered, her fear a palpable presence in the air. Her spine went rigid when, beyond Celeste’s pleading voice, there was a song.
Thesong. The melody was haunting, a ghostly echo from her past.
Her feet stopped, and she listened. The voice was faint and difficult to hear over the screams, but it grew louder with each breath.
It can’t be.
She didn’t remember falling, but when Dax picked her up, holding her close to his chest, she buried her face in his cloak. Gripping his lapels, she tried desperately to memorize the haunting melody, until the sweet flower scent faded along with Celeste’s voice and the song she used to hear when she was a youngling.
