Page 8 of Through the Wicked Wood

He follows close behind, not offering any conversation or questions about our path, the occasional snap of twigs under his boots the only proof he’s still there. Glancing over my shoulder, I nod toward the exit. Leading us to a small burrow of bushes on the farthest side of the gully, hoping the maze I’ve created will be dizzying enough that he won’t recall the way back once he’s gone.

Stepping outside of the ravine, the sun is bright and puffy white clouds scatter about the sky. I admire the whimsical shapes, remembering a time when my mother and I would lay out on the terrace of the castle in Valebridge, making a game of how many different animals we could interpret from them. Lifting my chin toward the sky, my eyes close as I take a deep breath through my nose. My shoulders unclench slightly as the warmth of the sun spreads over me and the events of today begin to wash away. As I’m about to give my thanks to the Mother, an unfamiliar presence invades my moment of serenity. Snapping my eyes back open, I don’t turn my head; instead, I focus my gaze on the trees.

Sorin’s proximity is closer than I would typically be comfortable with, but seeing as I’m too tired to speak, I close my eyes again and return my focus to the sun and the sky. Letting out a silent thank you to Mother Gaia, I breathe in the world around me and sense my nerves settling with every intake of fresh air.

“It’s beautiful here.” Sorin’s voice breaks the silence between us, forcing my eyes open once more. Annoyed that I can’t finish a thought without him interrupting, I give up the task altogether.

“It’s just around the corner,” I mumble, pushing past him. Rounding the dense group of evergreen trees, my tiny cabin finally comes into view. Seeing my home still intact as if nothing happened today is just the kind of assurance I need.

Finding the abandoned hunting cabin was a miracle all those years ago. Although the roof was mostly holes and the interior rotted and filthy, I took my time cleaning it up. Fixing what needed to be fixed. Rebuilding this cabin is the most proud I’ve ever been. Putting my hands and mind and nervous energy to good use.

Now, the small wood cabin is my only refuge. The wildflower seeds I planted last summer have bloomed, leaving bursts of pinks and yellows around the wooden frame of my home. Their faint scent drifts through the breeze, lavender and hyacinth calming my nerves. Inside is minimal; a makeshift bed, a pitcher and bowl I found, and a few other odds and ends. It isn’t much, but it is everything.

“You live here alone?” Sorin’s question hangs in the air as I point him in the direction of a small rack I built that rests just to the side of the cabin. Ignoring his question, I change the subject.

“You can hang your jacket there, if you’d like,” I say. “The sun will be at its full height in the next hour, and should be mostly dry by nightfall.”

“I appreciate the hospitality.” Sorin chuckles lightly. “But you didn’t answer my question. I’ve been through Copenspire many times over the last few years, and I’ve never heard of you. A woman who lives in the woods. Curious is all.” Hanging his jacket on the rack, he spreads the arms loosely so it will dry more evenly. Keeping myself busy, I gather bundles of sticks for a fire.

“I’ve been here…awhile. And though it isn’t much, it’s better than Kirs–” I stop myself short, biting my tongue for almost telling Sorin where I last lived, Kirsgard Mountain. “I like to keep quiet,” I continue, shooting him a scowl. “I don’t worry myself with the business of others.”

He laughs again but this time, makes a dramatic bow. “Point taken, lady of the woods, my lips are sealed.” If I wasn’t so annoyed by his constant chatter, I may have even smiled at his show of enthusiasm. Kneeling down, he begins placing the wood in the circle of the fire pit, forcing me to bite down on my tongue to keep from scolding him. I don’t need his help to build a simple fire. Before I can snap at him again, he interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll be out of your hair at morning's first light,” Sorin says, grabbing a few more handfuls of wood. “Unlike you, I often find myself reveling in the company of others.”

* * *

The rest of the day is filled with my usual tasks, only this time they’re quicker with Sorin’s help. I hate admitting it, but having an extra set of hands is quite the luxury I didn’t realize I missed. Sorin spent most of the afternoon gathering more wood for the fire, while I checked a few snares down in the valley. Refilling my pitcher with the collected rainwater from last night’s storm, I return it to my cabin and grab a small sewing kit that I stole from a waste bin in Copenspire. There’s an almost ease about the day, despite having company and despite the events from earlier.

With a bit of leftover thread, I carefully stitched Sorin’s wound together. The act took three times longer than necessary due to his complaining. A wince every few minutes had me stopping to roll my eyes. Men and their low pain threshold.

By the time the sun has set, my body drags and screams to be taken to bed. The mental exhaustion from today finally weighs me down, my eyelids drooping with the promise of sleep. When Sorin insists on cooking our dinner, I don’t protest. All I want is to sit. Or sleep. None of my traps had been fruitful, but I was able to locate a group of edible mushrooms that will stew well with some herbs from my small garden.

Sitting around the fire, neither of us has the energy to speak as we eat our dinner from wooden bowls in contented silence. Rising from the ground, I down the rest of my broth before turning to head to bed. But Sorin’s words cut through me like a freshly sharpened blade.

“To many outside Valebridge,” he says, low and deep, “it’s difficult to tell an Enchantress from a human. You have all the same features. All the same parts.” I spin on my heels to face him. My narrowed eyes meet his as he smirks, a dimple deepening the left side of his cheek. “But,” he continues, “your energy is different. Powerful.” I say nothing as he continues. Locked in place by the words I’ve dreaded to hear. Enchantress. “But it’s your eyes,” he says. “No one can mistake those eyes. Beautiful. Dangerous, even masked.” Leaning back on a fallen log he crosses his legs at the ankle, relaxed by the fire like he’s been here for years. I blink a few times, letting the mask I’ve been wearing all day fall until my golden eyes glow in the darkness. “You said before that you came here from Kirsgard Mountain, correct?”

“And what business is it of yours?” My words are curt and blunt, a defense mechanism I’ve become accustomed to for some time.

A small chuckle rises in his throat. “Ah, none I suppose,” he says. “It’s all right, you’re safe with me. I won’t harm a hair on your head so long as you swear not to harm any on mine.” He shoots me a glance before returning his attention to the fire. I bite down on my cheek, contemplating telling him that while I am an Enchantress, I have no magick to use in the first place. “There will be no running off to King Roman with you as my bounty,” he continues, snapping his gaze back to me. “You’re safe.” He finishes with a yawn as he stretches his arms high above his head.

Safe.

“And why’s that?” I ask, taking the bait. I know King Roman has magick hunters looking for Enchantresses all across the country of Teravie, so why would he not try himself to collect the reward? “Seems as though you make your living in a distasteful way, why would you keep my secret?” I make my way back to the fire, the thoughts of sleep long gone. I should have trusted my gut and left him by the river. Who’s to say he won’t do exactly that, take me to Valebridge for a handsome bounty?

It was a matter of time before you were found.

He eyes me through the fire, the flames reflecting in his dark eyes, casting shades of yellow and orange across his tanned skin. “What if I told you, not all was lost for your kind?” He murmurs as I retake my seat. Shooting him a puzzled look, I tilt my head to the side. “The Awakening Stones survive, my lady,” he whispers. “Or so rumor has it.” His tone is casual and collected, but his words leave me gutted.

“That’s not possible, the Stones were taken when—” I stop myself, not wanting the memory of that night to be brought up again in front of this stranger. Redirecting my gaze to the flames, my heart thumps loudly in my chest.

Sorin’s gaze burns through me for a moment too long before he lets out a long sigh. “Well, rumor up the coast is that the Stones remain lost after the uprising,” he says. “Or they’re unable to be retrieved.”

Uprising.

The word burns a hole through me as rage engulfs my every nerve. The false uprising the king has used as an excuse to lock Enchantresses up. Visions of Enchantresses being ripped from their homes invade my mind, all for the king to steal our magick. I dig my fingers into my palms.

Sorin, oblivious to my sudden spark of anger, huffs a laugh as he continues,“Interestingly enough, the rumors say the Stone’s last known location was on Kirsgard Mountain…odd, isn’t it?” He runs his hands through his dark hair. “That’s what the rumors are anyway.” He shrugs as he gently cups the back of his head, patting lightly over the wound I stitched up earlier. The slight wince that shoots across his face makes my lips turn upward.

Stoking the fire with my stick, I push an ember around until it lets small flecks of bright orange light up into the night air. Is it possible the Stones remain embedded at Nevek Peak atop the mountain? That no one could remove them? Or that no one has discovered their sacred place once all the other Enchantresses were taken or killed?

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