Page 85 of Through the Wicked Wood

Reluctantly, one of the guards steps forward. “You so much as look the wrong way, these will be back on before you know what’s happened.” Nodding my head, I let him unlock the shackles. I flex my fingers, roll my wrists, and call upon my magick.

Nothing.

Then, a whisper beneath my hands, so quiet I can’t make out what’s been said. Taking a step closer to the peak, the Stone’s flicker in the darkness and the whisper grows louder. But it isn’t the same call as the magick I’ve become used to. My body trembles as I make the final step to the peak. That whisper again, hushes over my skin, freezing my breath in my chest.

The ambient glow of the Stones radiates under the moon. I am lost in the essence. In their being. Because that is what they are. Each Stone its own being. Breathing. Living. Waiting to be called upon.

I reach for my magick again, but am interrupted by a sound I once despised. No longer is the sound an annoyance. Now, it’s lovely and familiar. My eyes shoot to the sky as a caw fills the elevated mountain air. Dozens and dozens of crows circle the sky above us, their sounds both menacing and somehow hopeful. The guards and I watch in confusion as the flurry of birds, so thick, it’s as if they’re one solid mass, circles above us. Then without warning, their caws cease and they’re nothing more than a swirling of feathers in the night sky.

“What is that?” one of the guards whispers to another.

“Probably something to do with the oncoming storm,” another guard answers. But he’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. Because while the sky indicates a storm is coming, the birds should be flying south. And yet here they are, silently circling above us. My eyes begin to dizzy as I watch the black birds continue their circling, enraptured by their movements. I'm lost in the haze.

Then, like a bolt of obsidian lightening, a single crow breaks free from the circle and spirals downward. I watch with widened eyes as another departs from the group. Then another. And another. Until finally, they form a thick line and shoot straight at us. I scream as their beating wings and caws shoot out around me. But they continue their course, flying right past me to the guards. I keep my hands pressed tightly over my ears as I watch the birds attack with lethal precision. Every caw from the birds is met with equally unsettling yells from the guards as they try to flee.

Bloodied body parts and gouged eyes litter the rocky floor beneath us, and I’m left paralyzed by the carnage and lingering screams. My chest heaves as I watch the birds peck and rip the flesh from the men. Their attempt to fight the birds off is quickly dismissed as more and more birds land from the sky. A scrape of talons against rock catches my attention, and when I turn my head, I’m met with a single crow, perched atop Nevek Peak.

With a quick inhale, I drop my hands from my ears and watch the crow as it stands before me. Its beak is clean of blood, its feathers radiant under the moonlight. My breath catches when I finally meet the bird’s eyes.

Silver eyes.

It stares at me, unmoving, as I struggle to fight back tears. All feelings of being lost vanish. Now, only hope fills me. I know it cannot be her, but somehow it is. Somehow my mother stands before me in the shape of a crow, and my heart lurches as Galen’s words ring in my ears.

“Either your mother was also a Dyrsjel or your maternal grandmother.”

Why didn’t you tell me! I want to scream. I could have saved us! But the words don’t come. Because they don’t matter. She did what she had to do to save me. To protect me and herself from a fate worse than death. And now I will do what I have to do to save the rest of the Enchantresses. To ensure the Mother is appeased and the Kingdom is no longer at risk.

Without warning, the crow before me tilts its head toward the sky and lets out a deep caw. I can’t explain how I know it, but she’s telling me to hurry. To get the Stones and run. I want to speak. I want to thank her. Tell her I love her but I don’t have the time.

Before I can open my mouth, my head is filled with her voice. The Enchantress prayer, the one used for every Ceremony. It repeats over and over in the melodic way my mother always spoke. With a final glance at the crow, she darts to the sky before I can thank her, a murder of black birds following swiftly in her wake.

I steady my breathing as I watch the last of the birds disappear over the mountains. The sudden quiet surrounding me makes my stomach coil with nerves, and I try my best not to glance behind me to where I know the lifeless bodies of the guards lay. Focus, Elora.

Placing my hands atop the first Stone embedded in the rock, Earth, I close my eyes and remember the words of the prayer.

“To our Mother Gaia, who has given us all. Provided life and magick and healing. To our ever fruitful country of Teravie. We thank you and we honor you. May our gifts be a reflection of your power. May our kindness be an ode to your heart. May our lives be a dedication for your sacrifice.”

My hands begin to shake, and I know it’s not only from the cold. I press my hand firmer against the Stone and repeat the prayer until, at last, it wiggles free. Opening my eyes one at a time, I glance down into my hand. The iridescent jade stone hovers just above my palm, flickering gold stardust encircles it as it floats freely. Fatigue begins to settle over me, but I push past it and close my palm, encompassing the stone. Once it touches my skin, a sting of heat rushes through my system, jolting me momentarily.

Keep moving, I tell myself and so I do. Carefully placing the Stone in the pocket of my breeches, I move onto the next. I repeat the processes, each time my energy fading, and each time a spark of heat stings across skin. As I gently place the last stone, Fire, into my pocket it takes every bit of strength I have left not to collapse onto the ground.

Keep moving.

Keep moving.

My feet carry me carefully as I step past the wreckage that’s left of the guards. Holding the back of my hand against my mouth, I try my best not to look, not to touch, the bloodied bodies that scatter the ground. Adrenaline kicks in as I begin my descent.

Running downhill I reach out to Alaric again, hoping by some miracle I’ll get a response. Get any indication as to where he or the others might be. My boots pound against the rocky ground, and I will myself past the pain in my right foot starting to come forth. The movements all too familiar of the night I fled. There’s no time to stop, no time to rest. I need to find the others.

So focused on the line of trees at the bottom of the mountain, I don’t notice the jagged rock beneath my foot. My boot snags on the top of it and I’m sent tumbling down. The fabric of my breeches where it tore in the Wicked Wood rips further, reopening the wound there. Hot blood soon fills the gash that is sliced through my flesh.

I tip my head back and yell out a curse at the pain. At Cade. At how dreadfully tired I am.

Sitting myself up, I stretch out my leg to assess the damage. My pants are ripped at the knees and it appears my left leg took the brunt of the fall. I push my hand against the gash and curse again at the amount of blood spilling from it.

Give up.

I struggle to catch my breath as tears fall rapidly, stinging against my cheeks. I know I need to get up. To keep moving, but I don’t. I sit with my palms pressed to my knee and I sob. My body is worn to threads, but it is nothing compared to how shattered my mind feels.

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