Page 17 of Through the Wicked Wood

“In we go,” Sorin says casually as he gestures again to the thorny bush.

Hopping down from the mare, I give her a pat on the nose before heading toward the bush. “And what about Amis?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to the horse.

“I’ll send someone for her,” Sorin says as he drops the branches of the bush, diluting the music on the opposite side. “She’ll be safe here for now.”

Taking her reins, he loops them loosely around a nearby birch tree. She happily bends down and begins grazing the ground for food. Walking back toward the thicket, Sorin parts the dense and prickly leaves again. “Are you coming?” he asks, holding out his hand. With a bit of reluctance, I reach out and intertwine my hand with his as we climb through.

Entering the thorny bramble feels similar to submerging into a pool of water. My vision clouds and ears become plugged as the pressure from the lack of oxygen pushes down against us. The music from before becomes briefly muddled as I fall through the other side of the bush. Then, in a tidal wave of noise, the sounds become clear and rich. Visions of orange flames from a fire flick through the air, and dull shapes of stone houses linger in the distance.

Rubbing a hand over my eyes, I attempt to make sense of what just happened. Clarity slams into me as I take in my new surroundings, hidden in plain sight. The village must be warded using magick. Magick. As if sensing my disbelief, Sorin dips his chin to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine as he whispers, “Welcome to Loxley.”

Chapter 9

Elora

What lies before me is mind faltering. The difference between this village and the one I was warned against all those years ago in Valebridge is astonishing. Women and children laughing and playing together. Men singing while strumming away on their instruments. A few dogs lay near the fire, music and laughter lulling them to sleep. So different from the outcasts and debauchery I’d been warned about.

Warm air coats my skin as the thrum of magick bounces off the trees inside the warded village. Meeting Sorin’s stare, my eyes flicker in the darkness. I don’t bother masking them. For the first time in a long time, I truly feel safe. I’m not sure if it’s the sweet sounding music or knowing magick breathes here, but my lips begin to curve into a smile.

Heading toward the fire, I tense my shoulders as I wait for a sense of nervousness to wash over me. It’s been years since I’ve been around so many people at once. Even on Kirsgard Mountain, our group was no more than a handful. Much to my surprise, the dread and nerves never surface. Instead, I’m met with a sense of calm. Contentment. Even a bit of excitement.

Sorin takes a slight turn and leads us to a small stable, lit dimly by a lantern anchored to the outer wall. He quickly discards the guard’s sword and pulls on a cloak that’s hanging in one of the stalls, concealing the bloodied uniform he still wears from days before. Stepping away for a moment, he leans around a wall, whispering to someone I can’t see. But quickly, a boy rushes out from behind a stall—he can’t be older than fifteen years, his hair a shaggy mess of blonde curls. Stopping briefly, he bends in a quick bow. Unsure what to do with myself, I attempt a curtsey, nearly tripping over my own feet. The movement feels awkward and foreign, despite growing up in a place that required such things.

“Thank you, Jacobi,” Sorin says, dismissing the boy. “Amis,” Sorin whispers, reading my question before I can ask it. Relief spills over me knowing she won’t be left alone for long.

With Sorin more appropriately dressed, we head back toward the village, but my eyes catch on the people circled around the small fire. “They’re not usually this rambunctious,” Sorin laughs, noticing my gaze. “With the full moon approaching, sometimes they let their guard down.” I dart my eyes up at him and am surprised to see how his face has softened upon our arrival. The smugness he’s worn the last two days has morphed into something resembling contentment.

“I know what you’re thinking and yes,” he says, pausing his steps. “Even people no longer associated with Valebridge celebrate Mother Gaia and the full moons.” While I’m ashamed to admit it, I’ve let the last three years worth of full moons go to waste, wallowing in self pity and grief. The idea of celebrating Her in the coming week sends a plume of anticipation through me.

“Well,” I say, rolling my shoulders, attempting to unleash a bit of stress I’ve been carrying. “Is it too late for us to join them?”

Sorin’s eyes widen as his brows jump to his hairline. “Are you sure?” he asks. “After yesterday, I thought you’d appreciate a moment alone. With all that’s happened…” he trails off, letting his final words turn to a question.

While being alone does sound refreshing, I can’t help but stare at the joyous people around the fire. Their laughter and singing sparks a remnant of hope in my chest. After that night on the mountain, I vowed to myself I’d live alone until my days ran out, or I ended them myself. More vicious words and thoughts begin to form in my mind, so I bite my bottom lip to distract myself. Glancing back to the people around the fire, I force a small smile.

“I’m sure.”

* * *

Circled around the fire are a few of the village elders. Eviey, Letty, and Agnes. Sorin introduces me to Eviey and Letty first, each of the women takes my hand in their palms as we meet. The warmth of their touch is like a sip of mulled wine. Familiar and comforting. So much so that I fight against pulling them in closer for a hug, but I keep my wits about me and draw back after our introduction.

“Eviey and Letty are twin sisters, if you can’t tell, and the resident forest witches and healers of Loxley,” Sorin explains. My smile widens as the two take their seats by the fire. I’ve never met a witch before. While witches and Enchantresses both possess certain magick from the Mother, they’re also different in many ways. Witches are not born into their magick as Enchantresses are. They are born human and from practice and servitude gain simple magick. Their magick comes in the form of potions, healing, possibly a simple spell, like warding a village such as Loxley. It’s not to say they can’t be powerful, there is always a darker side to any otherworldly gift. But I detect none of that in their presence.

Both sisters wear their long, silver, hair in loose braids, several strands hanging freely around their faces. The only real difference I can spot between the two is that Eviey wears thin rimmed wire glasses, and Letty does not. Their wrinkles are deep against their sun-kissed skin, accentuated by the flickers of firelight and smiles adorned on their faces.

“So good to have you here, Elora.” Eviey says, face beaming through the flames.

When I’m introduced to Agnes, the warmth and comfort I felt from Letty and Eviey settles and my nerves get the best of me. Unease brews in my stomach as we approach her. While all three of the women are elderly, Agnes wears much deeper lines around her eyes and face, showing she is the most mature. Her eyes, while dark in color, have flecks of honey brown that make them sparkle in the firelight.

Agnes’ deep brown skin accentuates her silvery white hair that hits just below her ears, the tightly coiled curls springing in all directions. She wears a multilayered patchwork dress, different shades of green and blue billow down to the ground, accompanied by a green scarf draped loosely around her shoulders.

When she stands to shake my hand, the gold bangles lining either wrist clink together making music of their own. I am not a tall woman, but Agnes barely reaches my shoulder. Though her frame is petite, her hips are full, as well as her cheeks, softening an otherwise hardened face. I focus on her eyes. They give away the unrelenting strength she exudes. Sharp and alert despite the lines surrounding them, I have no doubts that she is the powerful village leader Sorin has told me about.

“Elora, welcome to Loxley.” She grips both my hands in hers. A faint whiff of peppermint hits me as she speaks. The yearning to linger in the embrace of the witches is absent as I shake hands with Agnes, and I find myself withdrawing a little too quickly. I flash her a quick smile to make up for my abrupt release.

“I hope my son remembered his manners on your journey,” Agnes says. “Whatever it is that brought you here, we’re glad to have you.” She peers into my eyes with a fierceness so deep I begin to worry she can see the demons that lurk beneath. After what feels like an eternity, she breaks our gaze and turns her attention to Sorin. Bending down before her, he places a quick kiss on her cheek.

I can’t help but stare at the two of them side by side. Sorin stands easily a foot taller than her, and they bear no resemblances.

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