Page 14 of Through the Wicked Wood

The wind off the water is even more vigorous than in the square. Whipping wildly, a few pieces of Elora’s blonde hair loosen from her braid, flying back into my face. Pressing my heels into our horse, we pick up speed and start the trek up the hill and into the woods of the northern Trinity Forest. The shouts from the men fade to the distance as we crest over the hillside. I steer our mare off the trail and into a dense group of pine trees, she obeys without question and to my surprise stays silent as the men catch up to us.

Elora’s body tenses again as the royal guards come into view, her hand grazing mine briefly. The sensation catches me off guard, so I grip her hand and hold it tight as the guards search the surrounding area.

Slowly, they make their descent, not having a clue that we’re only a few feet away, hidden by the vast trees.

Idiots.

Once I’m sure the men have made the trek back to town, we step out of the trees, our mare following my lead as though she too was trying to escape.

“Good girl,” I whisper, letting go of Elora’s hand to pat the horse's side. Then, we’re off again, riding further north until the air turns cold and the trees more sparse.

The woods here are similar to the forests across the Galdosa River where Elora and I met. Though not quite as dense, the evergreens in these regions still grow wide and tall, jutting toward the sky as if reaching for the heavens; branches of deep green spreading vastly in all directions.

Stopping a few miles into the woods, once I’m sure no one else has followed, we let the horse rest and drink from a nearby spring. The water trickles down off the mountainside and gathers into a small pool. My eyes catch on Elora as she strokes the horse. Her hands are gentle, but it doesn’t match her face. A deep crease forms between her brows as she focuses on the horse.

“We’ll rest here for a half hour, give the horse time to catch her breath. Then we’ll continue our ride north,” I tell her, though she doesn’t bother to look in my direction. “There's a small cave a couple hours away. We’ll camp there tonight and reach the village by the end of day tomorrow.” Heading toward the spring, I settle down on a large rock covered with thick, spongy moss. Varying shades of green speckle the ground, and with the sun dimmed behind the curtain of trees it almost appears to be glowing.

“Will they continue to look for us?” she asks, her voice is distant and flat. Keeping her back toward me she focuses all of her attention on the horse. “Someone must have found that guard,” she continues, “and the other two from yesterday will be noticed missing. Those two that followed us surely won’t give up that easily.” Turning to face me, she’s unmasked her eyes again, the golden reflection catches my breath.

Standing from the spring, I take a few cautious steps toward her, but when I do, she takes a step backward.

“They will come looking for us,” I say, keeping my voice low. “But I promise, you’re safe with me. The guards in Copenspire are nothing but lazy, low-lying filth. Everything that has happened to them, has been deserved for one reason or another.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. I’m ashamed of the men I’ve killed to keep my village safe, and yet, if it came down to it, I would do it again. Maybe this makes me a dishonorable man, but I never claimed to be anything better. “You did just as I would have done,” I whisper. The words are intended to be a comfort, and yet as soon as they leave my lips all I feel is ill.

Without a glance in my direction, she moves toward the spring, settling on a spongy patch of vibrant green moss. Ignoring the warring feelings inside myself, I turn to prep the horse for our journey. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be riding into Loxley, and I’ll finally be home.

Chapter 8

Elora

The cave Sorin spoke about yesterday is nestled deep in the woods, keeping us protected from the wind. Sleep eluded me most of the night, but I found myself drifting in and out, muddy images of the days prior stole the rest I so desperately needed. Faint howls echoed through the cave every so often, giving me even more unease. Though, Sorin didn’t budge at the noise, and I’m beginning to believe they’re in my head now too.

The ache in my skull is as sharp as a blade as we prep our horse for the final sprint to Sorin’s village. The guard's face from the alley is now burned into my mind, along with the guard I killed on the river. Two more demons to join my already cursed soul. I replay the instance in the alley over and over again. How my hands betrayed me, how my mind betrayed me. I’ve never felt more scared than I was yesterday—of myself, of what I’d done.

Rubbing my temples to help soothe the constant throb, I shove down the image of the man, pocketing him with the other faces that reside in my mind, leaving him there to haunt me later.

“Water?” Sorin’s voice breaks my spell as he hands me the small canteen from the guard’s pack. Greedily, I grab it from him and gulp it down. My throat is hoarse and dry and the water from the spring is so cold it burns as it slides down my throat. “Okay, then,” Sorin snorts as I finish off what’s left in the canteen.

“Thanks,” I say, closing the cap, I make a mental reminder to refill it before we leave. Glancing down at my tunic, I make a separate reminder to wash the dried blood off my clothes. Turning my attention to Amis, I whisper hello to the horse. Of course, we don’t know her given name, but Amis suits her. She nuzzles my hand in search of food as I stroke the velvety portion of her nose. Chuckling softly, I reach in my cloak pocket and fish out a small handful of salmonberries I scavenged the night before. We’d been lucky to find such a treat, but unfortunately it was all the food we were able to find and my stomach protests as I feed the last of the berries to the horse. Amis swallows them down, licking my hand for any remnants of the berry juice.

“You’re welcome,” I laugh and give her a final scratch behind the ear.

Breaking the silence between us, Sorin gathers the small amount of supplies we have left into the saddle bag positioned over Amis. “The ride to Loxley from here is only a couple hours, though the terrain gets pretty rough.” He mounts Amis and reaches his hand down for me.

“I’m sorry, did you say Loxley?” I ask, grabbing his hand to haul myself up into the saddle. “As in the fabled village of Loxley from the schoolbooks? I wasn’t sure that was even a real place. Especially considering all the stories surrounding it,” I admit. Sorin lets his arm drape loosely around my waist, nothing like the firm grip he held me with the day before. Amis begins her soft trot north, taking us deeper into the woods.

Sorin’s body shakes as he lets out a low, bellied laugh. “Oh yes, the unrighteous village of Loxley is very real,” he says. “Full of outlaws and thieves, bastard children and adultery,” he continues, chuckling softly as he steers Amis to the left, taking her up a narrow rocky path. “Well,” he says softly, his laughter dissipating, “the schoolbooks are only partly true.”

I tighten my grip around the pommel of the saddle as the incline steepens. “I have a hard time believing Loxley is as real as you say.” I laugh nervously, surely sounding naive. As we breach the top of the hill, I unclench my shoulders and readjust in the seat. Peering to my right, the cliff face is jagged and rocky, leading down to the crashing white waves of an endless sea. Without thought, I lean back against Sorin. The height of the fall has my instincts begging to put as much distance between myself and the edge as possible. His arm tightens around my middle, and I stare at the engulfing waves crashing upon the shore below. Before we linger too long on the cliffside, Sorin pulls the reins and leads us back into the safety of the forest.

“Loxley is indeed real,” Sorin says, “but it’s only spun in half truths. Yes, Loxley has remained hidden from the rest of the kingdom for quite some time, the elders have done a great job of that. We’re a village built on stubborn independence and diligent hard work.” The crunch of Amis’ hooves turns to a soft thud as the forest floor changes from rocky and rough to mossy and soft.

“As for the debauchery,” he starts again, “it’s mostly a myth. Loxley is made up of outcasts, sure. People Valebridge didn’t have use for, or people who didn’t have use for Valebridge but couldn’t quite find their place elsewhere. Who wanted to live life freely. Openly. Without the strict guidelines of the king looming over their every move.” I chew on his words but don’t press any more questions.

“Growing up in Valebridge we were taught in school to fear the outliers,” I admit. “That the mythical village of Loxley was nothing more than a breeding ground for the ruthless.” Sorin laughs, but my mind flashes to yesterday, to the alley with that man. It sounds as though I’d be more suited with the fabled Loxley anyhow.

“And what of the Jade Guild?” I ask, adjusting in the saddle. I’ve never been one to sit still for long. “Is it not in their jurisdiction? Surely they’d know of Loxley.”

“Lord Thaddeus is an old man.” Sorin sighs. “He knows of Loxley’s existence but I’ll be damned if he ever finds us.” Sorin’s grip tightens on the reins, his body shifting behind me like he’s suddenly uncomfortable. “If I’m being honest, I’m quite disappointed by his lack of involvement since Roman took over. People this far north have suffered greatly the last few years with the blight and he’s done nothing to stop it.”

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