Page 4 of Through the Wicked Wood

Then, there she is. Drifting into my memory strong and swift.

Very rarely do I allow myself to think of her. But whenever I let my guard slip, my mother’s voice seeps into the depths of my mind, haunting me there.

“My little susi.” As she so often called me. So many nights the memory of her voice has roused me from a feverish sleep, leaving me caught somewhere between a dream and a nightmare. I shudder, remembering how close I came to giving into the demons last night. Shaking my hands at my sides, I force myself to move forward.

* * *

The width of the ravine is always a wonder to me, no matter how many times I’ve approached it. The Ravine of No Mercy, as the locals in Copenspire like to call it. The tales of the woodland spirits are no more ruthless than others I heard as a child, but for whatever reason the people of Copenspire fear the ravine. Swapping tales of sprites and nymphs who lure humans to their eventual demise. Seeking their youth, blood, first born children.

Whether the tales of the Ravine of No Mercy are true or not, I can’t say. Even after three years here, the pesky sprites are the most nuisance of all. Perhaps it’s the Enchantress blood running through my veins keeping the other occupants of the woods away, thinking I possess magick stronger than theirs.

Or it could be that evil spirits and nymphs don’t exist here at all. Even the Jade Guild hasn’t been a bother. The Lord who reigns in the forest has been rumored to have sealed up his keep shortly after King Roman took the throne. Not letting anyone in or out. Giving up completely on the humans he is supposed to lead. As sparse as hunting and fishing has become recently, I imagine those with more mouths to feed are suffering even worse.

As for the wolves, I know of their existence, having witnessed them myself. Their faint howls often plague the air around my cabin, but I’ve done my best to remain unseen. The only time I saw one of the giant beasts, it was my first summer in the woods, and I’d been collecting berries much like I had today. The wolf watched me from across the ravine, just as I had watched it, but it never approached me. It just sat and stared after every move until eventually disappearing into the forest.

The ravine stretches for miles in either direction, the trees creating a thick blanket so hardly any sunlight makes it through to the ground. The vibrancy of the evergreen trees glisten in the morning light. I stop to catch my breath before entering, willing the voices in my head to silence before they even start. Breathing deeply, I inhale the scent of the early morning dew. Freshly dropped upon the forest canopy, tiny orbs of water glisten from the flowers and pine needles.

Unsheathing my right dagger, I step silently on my toes as I enter the thick, deep green sea of saplings. Giant boulders and river rock scatter the grounds, fallen logs covered in spongy green moss make the way through a maze for the layman. But I have learned these routes and could find my way through even on the darkest of nights. Being in the ravine makes the tightness in my shoulders release slightly. There’s a certain peacefulness in the mundane. Of the day to day routines that have kept me sane all these years. And memorizing and hunting in the ravine has been my favorite of them all.

Stopping just to the right of the opening, I reach down and ruffle some dried leaves to check the snare I set a few days prior. Hoping for a ground squirrel or better yet a rabbit. Anything to fill my stomach.

Empty.

Continuing toward the center of the grove, trying not to linger on yet another day with an empty trap, I crane my ear and follow the familiar sound of running water. Tip toeing and eyeing my left then my right, dagger still in hand, I make my way over a few fallen logs before arriving at the deep river basin nestled in the ravines center. Through the gully, the river mouth is wide and fast, the gurgling of rapids drowns out almost every other noise the forest has to offer. Once at the water’s edge, I place my dagger back in its sheath at my side and sit down on what I’ve claimed as my fishing rock. Leaning forward I snatch the rope I’d used to attach my woven trap and give a forceful tug, causing it to spring up out of the water.

My lucky day. A singular fish flails inside of the basket, its breaths quickening as I pull it from the water completely. The fish is small, no larger than my hand, but will be the perfect meal to get me through the day.

Besides, any gift from the Mother, especially on a day like today, is one I don’t take lightly.

Out of the water, the fish flops from side to side, its gills working tirelessly, as it silently begs to be returned to its home. Not wanting to prolong its fate, I reach in and grab it. The scales are smooth and slippery to the touch with varying shades of gray and green. I place it on the large rock as I whisper my thanks. Pulling my dagger from my hip, I swiftly cease its life with a deadly blow to the head, sending out a silent prayer to the Mother as I do so.

“All that has been given life, shall have an end. I wish you peace on your next journey.”

The tedious task of cleaning the fish shouldn’t take more than a few minutes; I move quickly to ensure no predators have the chance to catch the smell, cutting a straight line from the base of the tail up to the underside of the throat. Blood spills out either side, staining the gray rock a red so deep, I don’t allow my eyes to linger on it for too long. The color teeming with memories sets my jaw on edge.

Halfway through, a sudden snap sounds through the forest.

“In the name of King Roman, we command you to halt!”

Whipping my head up from the fish, I suck in a sharp breath while the rest of my body remains frozen. Slowly, I rise from my kneeling position, tracing the surrounding woods with my eyes. Nothing but low hanging branches, drooping with the weight of pine needles, stare back. The menacing caw of the resident crow wafts through the air, interrupting the silence of the woods, and I fight against rolling my eyes at the sound. Landing on a branch nearby, the bird lets out another caw towards the river. A second voice crashes through the woods; this time accompanied by a familiar thunderous sound which vibrates off the ground below my feet.

Horses.

“Cease, thief!”

Realizing the voices are coming from behind me, I spin my body, unsheathing my second dagger, and am greeted by two horsemen galloping across the riverbank.

Chapter 3

Elora

Throwing myself back down, my breaths are short and quick as my palms slick with sweat. It’s then I notice a third man, only he is without a horse and currently headed straight for the river. A flood of relief washes over me as I realize I’ve gone unnoticed by the men. The contented feeling is quickly replaced by unease. I’ve lived in these woods at the southern edge of the Trinity Forest for three years, and I’ve never encountered another soul. These men have entered the ravine, my only sanctuary, my home.

You don’t have a home.

The voices in my head mock my thoughts, but with a quick shake of the head to silence them, I begin to move. Light on my feet with daggers in hand, I creep toward the river to a nearby pine tree, using its massive trunk to shield myself. My eyes snag on the man headed toward the river. For a moment, I think he sees me. For a moment, his dark eyes blaze through the pine needles. For a moment, my heart skips a beat, leaving me gasping for air. Then, in a blink, he plunges into the icy currents.

This part of the Galdosa River is a constant white rage of water and movement, the giant waves forming tidepools and sucking down anything who dares cross its path. Tracking the man with my eyes, the water rips him down stream until by some miracle, he reaches a boulder. Clinging to the large rock, he lies protruding about halfway out of the water a few feet from the shore. Was he attempting to make it to the other side of the river? An ambitious goal, or a very stupid one.

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