Page 48 of Through the Wicked Wood

Cade.

His name hits me like rock. A weight tied to my soul. I silently damn myself for allowing myself to forget, to move on. My boots grind against the forest floor as I come to an abrupt stop. The pain in my chest spreads like a wildfire, and I know it won’t be long before the dark floods my vision. Gripping my chest, I force the voices down. Push the memories away. Just for a little longer, I tell them, let me get through today.

“Elora?” Sam’s grip on my arm is a tether back to reality. When I look up I’m grateful the boys have busied themselves with their canteens and chatter while they wait for us to catch up.

“Sorry,” I say, attempting a laugh but all that comes out is something strangled and weak. “Caught up in my own thoughts again.” Pulling my hood back, I take a huge gulp of the forest air. The sun is warm, so I tilt my chin up, letting it kiss my skin and push the demons further down. Always down, down, down. Sam’s gaze burns against my back.

“Sometimes,” I whisper, “I have flashbacks. Memories, I guess, of my life before.” Walking in unison now, Sam reaches for my hand and I let her grab it. “And sometimes,” I continue, “the memories are so vivid they feel very real. As if I’m living the night I lost my family over and over again. When those memories arise, it makes it difficult to decipher what is present and what is past.” Stopping for a moment, I catch my breath. “It’s as if I’m stuck in some in-between reality from the night I lost them,” I continue, Sam’s grip doesn’t falter, her touch soothing. “It’s as if I don’t belong here, but I can’t belong there. Because here is to be without them, and there no longer exists.”

“And you’ve not explained this to Sorin?” she asks. Shaking my head, my words fail me yet again. “The weight of losing your family can’t be light, Elora,” Sam says, squeezing my hand in the reassuring way I’ve found she often does with all of us. “You needn’t bear this alone. You can trust Sorin, and you can trust me.” I struggle to hide my wince as she speaks, her words too kind. Too unassuming to who she is speaking to. “He was there for me,” she whispers, “there for all of us when our father died. He knows grief. We all do in some way.”

Her words jolt me. Stopping, I grab her arm. “I’ve been selfish,” I admit. And I have. Acting as though I’m the only person to experience loss.

Shaking her head, we continue on. “You are anything but selfish,” she says. “Just trust him, okay?”

“I have every intention of explaining…this to Sorin,” I say, gesturing to my head. To the mess that is my mind. “I just…”

“You underestimate him, Enchantress,” she says, picking my hand back up. “Don’t let Sorin’s sunshine and roses facade fool you. Just because he wears his burdens well, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I know more than anyone they’re much heavier than he’s willing to admit.” She stops, chewing her bottom lip for a moment before dropping my hand. “Tell him what’s going on and let him help you. Help each other. Nobody should wade through the dark alone, perhaps together you can find the light.”

I mull her words over as we continue our walk.

Find the light.

But what if darkness is all I’ve grown to know? What if darkness is to me what light is to everyone else? When everyone craves to get through it, I thrive within it. Hidden from sight. Alone. I want to tell Sam that it isn’t so simple to explain you’re the reason your loved ones are dead. Maybe I deserve every bit of my despair for I’m at the root of it.

* * *

Catching up to the boys, Sam and I prop ourselves against a tree, opening our canteens for a drink. I’m quickly learning that no matter how hard I try to conceal my emotions, Sorin somehow knows when something upsets me. He tilts his head to the side as he studies me. Avoiding his gaze, I’m surprised when he approaches, but rather than asking how I am or what bothers me, he lets the words go unsaid.

Bending down he places a kiss to my forehead, his lips linger longer than necessary and my stomach dips in response. It’s the smallest act of kindness, not to pry or demand an answer for someone’s woes, but instead to simply exist in the same space as another. Dragging my eyes up to his face, his smile melts another layer of ice around my heart. The change is swift as it thaws, leaving more and more space to welcome him in. As if reading my mind, he grips the back of my neck and draws me in for another kiss atop my head. My shoulders unclench at his closeness, and I begin to wonder if that is his magick. Making me feel at ease in a way I’ve never felt before.

“We have another two hours before we reach Karos Falls,” Sorin says, repacking provisions into his bag, “Once we—”

His words are cut short as our attention turns to the deafening howls that sound from all directions. A murder of crows shoots out from the trees in a flurry of black. Their caws send a warning signal through the sky a moment too late. Hope fills my chest at the promise one of the howls belongs to Alaric, but fear overrides it as I realize my companions may not be as welcoming to a giant wolf approaching as I would. Tugging at my ear, we wait for another howl.

“Was that what I think it was?” Sam asks. “Wolves?” Her voice is shaky but her hands are anything but as they reach for her bow before pressing her back into Jarek’s so they’re flush.

“That’s not possible, is it?” Jarek eyes the woods around us as another howl shoots through the pines. Ripples of fear and adrenaline cascade over my body as I watch my friends react to what I know now is definitely Alaric. His howl is distinct, and for whatever reason, I can decipher it. Jarek steps away from Sam for a moment to reach an arm up and behind him to unsheath an ax from his back. The movement is so smooth and natural, his arm cutting through the air like butter.

“It’s not impossible.” Galen’s voice remains unbothered despite the current circumstance. “But it is unusual.” The heavy weight of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine despite the summer heat. “We haven’t had wolves in this part of the Trinity Forest in centuries,” Galen continues, stepping toward me now. “How peculiar, wouldn’t you say, Elora?”

Swallowing thickly, I don’t miss the way Sorin steps slightly closer to me. “I wouldn’t know,” I finally say. Galen’s eyes scan my face, but for the first time, I see softness instead of scrutiny.

“You two can discuss the details later,” Jarek says, unsheathing his second ax and pressing his back against Samaria again. Her bow has an arrow nocked and ready to fire as her eyes drift through the woods. A true hunter in every form. The two of them look somehow both lethal and completely comfortable in this position. Two halves to a whole. “Please just shut your mouths for a minute,” Jarek whispers again. “The susi are likely planning an attack as we waste time bickering.”

My stomach lurches. His accent isn’t heavy and typically I forget it is even there, but the dialect he uses on one word is strong and pronounced. Unmistakeable.

Susi.

“What did you say?” The accusation in my tone is one I immediately regret as four sets of eyes land on me. Pushing past Sorin, my chest heaves as I glance up at Jarek.

Relaxing his axes momentarily to his sides, his voice is much softer than before. “I asked if you could quiet your—”

“No, not that part.” Shaking my head impatiently, I drag my hands down my face. “The word you used…Susi.” Closing my eyes briefly, I do my best to ignore the others stares boring into my skin. My body heats under their gazes but still, I stand my ground. “What does it mean?” I demand again.

For a moment, the ground beneath me has been uprooted. Turning. Twisting. The trees disappear to ash as the skies darken to near obsidian. Songbirds cease, their melody replaced by howls that swiftly turn to screams. Stumbling backward, I bump blindly into Sorin. I recoil away from his touch like a serpent pinned in a corner desperate to escape. Dropping to my knees, I press my hands to my ears and will myself to slow down. To breathe. To remember that the world is in fact, still spinning. That my heart still beats.

But the word echoes inside my head over and over again. The same word my mother had given me as a nickname from birth. The word Agnes had used the day she had a premonition in the kitchen. The word that haunts every nightmare since my mother’s death. The word that holds more value than I could explain and yet I never knew its true meaning until this moment.

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