Page 22 of Through the Wicked Wood

Revenge.

The word catches on my tongue so I grab a mug from the counter and fill it with tea that sits in a kettle atop the hearth to wash it down.

Agnes has denied every request to take me to Valebridge. Growing up and learning the truth of what happened to my mother, it was my only wish, albeit it was a wish for blood. But she knew the dangers. The risks. With her health failing after William passed, the hope I had to avenge my mother dissipated. I let it die with him so I could focus on Loxley and caring for my family. I had moved on.

Until the blight started. And my mind began to replay the anger of watching my mother die all those years ago. I can’t let Valebridge sit back and do nothing as the people are stripped from their crops, their hunting, their livelihoods.

I knew I had to make a move, to try and stop Roman. I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know where to start.

And then I met Elora.

A sudden drop in my stomach sends me into a fit of panic. I want to explain to Agnes. Explain that this is my best shot at getting into Valebridge. Explain that even though we’ll be leaving, this is my home, and I will make it back safely. Agnes knows what I plan to do and still she doesn’t protest. She lets the silence hang between us before offering me a small smile.

Placing her hand on my heart, her voice is soft. “Just come back, my son. Don’t forget where you belong.” Without another word, she removes her hand and turns her attention back to the bread.

* * *

Loxley is just as I left it a few weeks ago, only now the trees are beginning to change with Autumn looming at the seasonal door. The evergreens will remain, but the maple trees that line Loxley will soon lose their green color and trade in for rich oranges and reds. It’s my favorite time of year. And this year, I’ll miss it.

I take my time strolling down the small main street, flipping my lucky Queen of Spades through my fingers before placing it securely in my breast pocket.

Along with the maple trees, the main street is lined with the small homes of our locals and a few merchant shops. Each of the homes look the same. Small stone cottages with mossy covered roofs, vibrant after the recent rain. Most of the stone chimneys are puffing out light gray swirls of smoke, turning a deep purple as it mixes with the dim light of dawn.

I cross the street and head toward Ulric’s. I have no doubt he’ll be up at this hour—an early riser, just as I’ve always been. I need to check in on my bow. Seeing the shops lining the streets makes me think of my father. My stomach twists recalling one of our last conversations.

“While the foundation of Loxley was built on freedom and dreams, the backbone and walls are made from the work of the opportunists, Sorin.”

“Opportunists?” I laughed, leaning over to sharpen my blade. “You sound like Sam, trying to make something out of nothing.”

“Maybe opportunist is a slightly exaggerated term. Thieves is probably more appropriate, as I’m sure your mother and sister would agree,” William said, joining me in my laughter. “But always remember, son, we never steal from anyone with the same misfortunes as us. If the king himself is fine letting the people who live in the outer villages starve, then we are fine taking from those who have more than what they need. More than they deserve. Steal from the rich…”

I smiled, striking my blade against my whetstone, “Even more from the richer.”

Reaching Ulric’s, I stop, smiling at the familiarity of the building. A sense of nostalgia sweeps over me as I reminisce the many days spent in the back of the shop learning the various trades Ulric is fluent in. A wooden sign reading The Lazy Anvil hangs low from a chain and directly underneath it, a smaller sign. Closed.

I have to duck to make it to the doorway, but I press on despite the Closed sign. The nostalgia fades as the reminder of why I’m here slams into me. I need my bow and arrows for our trip to Valebridge and all the places we must stop along the way.

I would be a fool not to admit I’m nervous about this venture. Nervous that I won’t be returning to Loxley at all. Nervous that I’ve put Elora in more danger than she was back in the woods alone. But the risk is worth the reward. The risk is worth everything.

Opening the shop door, the heat of the fires hit my cheeks instantly, and the clang of steel against hammers leaves a familiar ringing in my ears. Walking up to the counter that sits to the left of the shop, I crane my neck around the corner to try and get Ulric’s attention. Cupping my hands on either side of my mouth, I yell towards the blacksmith, “S’cuse me sir, don’t you know it’s rude to keep a customer waiting!”

He mumbles a curse before tossing his hammer down. I take a few paces backward and wait for him to take notice, placing my hands in my pockets, I rest my back against the shop door. His voice is laced with irritation as he rounds the corner to the front of the store. “The sign says we’re closed—” he cuts himself short when our eyes meet. “Bloody hell, man! I didn’t know you were back in town!” All the irritation from before sweeps away as his laughter fills the air.

Ulric is older than I am, if I had to guess I’d say he is in his late fifties. He found Loxley after being released from the royal army for a devastating injury to the leg. Once he was deemed “untreatable” they tossed him out like last night’s garbage. No mind he served King Silas his entire adult life, they threw him to the streets when he was no longer considered useful. Without any family, he had nowhere else to go, so he sought refuge in the forest, hopeful the myths of Loxley would be fruitful. A mysterious village nestled deep in the woods, making itself known to only those who are deemed worthy of entry. Luckily for him, and us, those rumors are true.

He's been with us for ten years now. Letty and Eviey patched him up as good as they were able, aside from the permanent limp he now walks with, he’s in decent shape. He stands several inches shorter than I do, but then again, I’m taller than most. His hair is cropped short and almost all gray now, matching his eyes. The smile he wears intensifies the roundness of his reddened cheeks. The color, a byproduct of working so close to the flames. Closing our distance, he wraps me in a tight hug.

“The prodigal son returns,” he laughs and I return his hug before breaking away.

“Please,” I say, rolling my eyes at the nickname.“Don’t start with that nonsense.” I know he’s jesting but it’s a nickname from William and it never felt right. “I’m glad to be back.” Moving to the stool behind the counter, he removes his long leather apron before sitting down.

“How long are you here for this time?” he asks, but my eyes snag on his hands as they rub his right leg, no doubt stiff from standing too long. Breaking my eyes away, I refocus them out the window of the shop. The sun has almost risen, bright orange and pink flood a cloudless sky. Villagers are beginning their day, sweeping stoops and setting up for the daily market. A trade of goods and services that’s tradition during the Summer months.

“Not long, I’m afraid.” I finally answer and meet his gaze. “Business to attend to farther…north.” I know many questions linger on his lips but to my relief, he doesn’t ask them.

Ulric leans back on the stool and rests his body on the wall behind him. Crossing his arms, his brows furrow. “You know that mother of yours had one of her visions while you were away. Saying something along the lines of change, and possibly…a girl.” It isn’t a question, but at the same time, it’s definitely a question. His smirk and my silence say more than enough. “It’s no matter though,” he continues, throwing his hands in the air. “She’s always speaking in circles, anyway.”

“Spending a lot of time with her, are you?” I raise my eyebrows and Ulric’s laughter bellows through the shop.

---