Page 7 of Queen of the Wildwood
An ache began in my heart as I watched him play his flute. Memories took me back to my father, a happy time when he would come in from the fields and sit in front of the fire, playing a tune for my sister and I. We giggled and danced while Mother, finding her helpers gone, first scolded and then joined us, feet tapping, skirts flying.
Moisture gathered in the corners of my eyes, and I swallowed hard.
“Can’t sleep?” Aelbrin’s hollow tone scattered my pensive thoughts. He sat staring out at the forest where the wind wailed and monsters roamed, hunting in the thickets. Every now and again I heard a hair-raising howl or a low moan.
I left the palletand limp toward him.He ran his fingers through his hair but never turned his face toward mine.
“That was beautiful,” I said. “Where did you learn how to play like that?”
“My people are known for their songs.” His hazel eyes met mine. “But I didn’t mean to wake you.”
My voice went wistful, and I felt my wall of solitude crumble. “It reminds me of my family.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I saw you this morning at the graveyard.”
I stiffened, recalling the flash of crimson and the noisy raven.
“Were you close to the deceased?” he went on.
“It was my sister,” I offered. There was something cathartic about speaking about what happened, and I let my jumbled thoughts out. “Occasionally a band of mercenaries would come to the village, seeking those with magic for their personal gain. They had heard about me and trapped my sister and me at the river during wash day.” My chest went tight as I recalled that fateful day, the smell of bog water, the soft mud, and my sister’s laughs as she scrubbed clothes. She was to be betrothed after Mabon, and the thought of a husband and babies filled her spirit with gaiety. “The mercenaries grabbed my sister. They planned to sell her for profit and take me as their mage. I used my magic to create a windstorm as a distraction. When they realized the strength of my power, they cut her throat before I could stop them. If I had gone peacefully, she would still be alive, and I could have escaped. Later. The villagers decided I had to join the Sisters of the Light, and my father was too devastated to stop them. . .” I trailed off as tears stung my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
A silence hung, sweetened by the whispered hush of the nearby creek. Sharing my story felt good; it brought a sort of closure and lessened the burden of grief and guilt I carried.
Aelbrin touched my hand, and warmth went up my spine. “Mistress Yula,” he mused. “Do you know what your name means?”
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “I don't believe my parents named me Yula because of the meaning. I suppose they liked the way it sounded.”
“Ah.” Aelbrin said. “It means ‘sacrifice.’ That's what you do, isn't it? Sacrifice your happiness for others?”
I stiffened, torn by the words that raked my soul. “What I want is not important,” I said bitterly, for sacrifice was the price of magic.
“Itisimportant,” Aelbrin insisted. He touched my bare arm, his fingers tracing a line from elbow to wrist. “If you always sacrifice your happiness, you will only be left a hull, a shell of your inner self and your potential.”
I scowled, in part at his words but also because his touch awoke a hunger deep within. Shifting on the cool ground, I changed the conversation. “What makes you say such things? Will you tell me how you came to serve the Dark Queen?”
At the mention of Her, his hand dropped away, and I felt a loss at the connection between us. The silence stretched. A cricket chirped in the darkness, and slowly other creatures took up the nocturnal melody.
Aelbrin sighed. “The tales I shared with you moons ago are true. I grew up in a grove with my tribe, far north of here. My mother died during the birth of my sister. I knew her briefly, and I supposed I should have missed her. But my tribe was a tight-knit community and more than made up for her loss. My father was a warrior, one of the highest honors of my tribe. I trained to become like him. A protector. We had something others did not: a source of wisdom and magic called Mother Tree. Her deep roots and thick branches covered the entire glade. She protected my people and gave us magic. Until the fire came. One fateful day a firedrake flew down from the mountains and attacked my village. It almost destroyed the Mother Tree, killed my father, left my sister badly burned, and my people in terror and chaos. Many claimed that more firedrakes would come and our line would end. I decided to take the risk upon my shoulders, for I thought I had nothing left to lose. I’d heard of the Queen of the Wildwood—many stories tell of her deeds—and became determined to strike a deal with her. She took the remains of the Mother Tree and promised me, as long as I serve her, my people are protected.”
Regret, mixed with pain and sorrow, filled the air. I wanted to offer him a token of peace, but words seemed inadequate. To protect his tribe, he served the Dark Queen, for it was the only choice he had.
I sensed the undercurrent of revulsion each time her name was mentioned, and how he glared at the mark seared into his skin. It was not a fate he would wish on anyone.
“Tell me about your people,” I encouraged gently, steering the conversation in a safer direction.
His voice was distant when he spoke, and I could tell he thought of past times. Happy times. “My people are ash trees. The spirit of the forest incarnate in the flesh. When we die, we return to our trees and rest until we are awakened and asked to live anew. Our purpose is to bring balance to nature and humankind. But the people respect us no longer. They cut us down and burn our wood. They create pastures for grazing their animals. They build homes on the land they took from us, and no one remembers the sacred forests. In part, that is why I thought to give my service over to the Dark Queen, for she understands the sacredness of the enchanted wood. But it is not as I thought it would be. She only thinks of what will benefit herself and her kingdom. I regret that I did not seek to understand before I let her take my soul.”
His pain made me ache.
“Is there no way you can escape?” I begged, forcing myself to breathe. My mind told me I should stand up and walk away now. I could not be drawn to him because of his sad story. I had to make my own decisions, stand firm, and find my own way, as I always did.
He shook his head. “Once you give the Dark Queen your soul, damnation is the only escape.”
I closed my mouth, and a tense silence filled the air. Instead of returning to the pallet, I did the one thing I knew better than to do. I reached out to him. My smooth fingers brushed his rough hands and gave a comforting squeeze. My breath went shallow as he turned his face toward mine, a hunger in his hazel eyes.
“Yula,” he said. “If you go to the Dark Queen, I will never see you again. Will you not reconsider?”
