Page 50 of Through the Wicked Wood

The knot forming in my throat is painful, but I push past it as I nod my head. Galen frowns, but only for a moment, before sliding his hand from my shoulder. “And you’ve heard them speak back to you?” Another shameful nod as my secrets become public. “Right,” Galen says, the usual flatness of his tone returning. “We’re all good here then.” Spinning on his heels, he heads back toward Sam.

“What do you mean?” I shout. He halts, turning to face me again.

“I mean these animals are not a threat to us as long as we’re not a threat to you.”

“You aren’t making sense, Galen.” Sam’s voice is still shaky. Jarek has returned to her side, sliding his hand down her arm and coaxing her to relax her bow. Galen lets out a long sigh, a show of his usual disdain for having to explain anything at all. As if all of us should know exactly what he means at all times.

“What I mean is, Elora here is a Dyrsjel. And so long as we do not harm or threaten her, the wolves will not harm or threaten us.”

“No, that can’t be, she hasn’t completed the Awakening Ceremony,” Sam says before I get the chance to speak.

Again, four sets of eyes land heavily on me, and I fight to keep the heat from crawling over my skin.

“Something to tell the group, Elora?” Galen steps forward, but Sorin stops him with the wave of a hand. I brave a glance at Sam, my heart sinks at the shock on her face. That I’ve lied to her. That I have completed my Ceremony. That I do possess my magick. Though, to be fair, I thought it a waste. That the Mother skipped me. That I was nothing.

Galen sets his pack onto the ground and pulls it open. The wolves have settled now, both laying down observing the five of us. “Dyrsjel magick is descended through bloodlines,” Galen explains. “Enchantresses are gifted this ability through the Mother, only to those possessing Dyrsjel blood. There are only a few bloodlines in Valebridge history that have been reported to be of Dyrsjel magick—”

“My mother was not a Dyrsjel,” I cut him off a little too defensively. Confusion swirls in my stomach as I dart my eyes between Galen and the wolves.

“It could have easily been your grandmother,” Galen says without missing a beat. “It’s coursing through you just as naturally as the blood you bleed, whether you deny it or not.” He continues rummaging through his pack.

Finding whatever he was looking for, Galen saunters to me and slides a book into my hands. It’s delicate and small, the spine cracked and peeling. I flip it over to read the title that is etched in gold filigree across a faded green cover, “The Natural History of the Dyrsjel.”

“Wait,” I say, shoving the book back into his hand. “You’re telling me all this time, I’ve had this ability? To speak to them? That is my magick?” I gesture to the beasts at my side.

“Yes, after your Ceremony of course,” Galen replies, a hint of a smirk on his lips at my secret revealed. He gestures to the giant beasts, the black wolf releasing a low rumble in her throat as he does. “If your mother never explained what a Dyrsjel is, it’s likely she didn’t want you to know. Perhaps to protect you.” He studies me for a moment before shoving the book back toward me. I take it, though uncertainty and disbelief make me want to drop it and run away.

“The magick you feel pushing against your skin,” Galen says, his voice returning to the soft calm I was so surprised to hear earlier. “As if it’s trying to claw its way out…” I glance at Sam and then to Sorin, my nerves more and more exposed and raw with each word. “That,” Galen continues pointing a finger at me and then to the wolves, “is them.” A heavy silence drifts through our group as I consider everything Galen’s told me. “You must let them in. Accept that this is part of you, otherwise the bond is pointless. It won’t work unless you allow it.”

Anger boils within me and with it, a swift kick of guilt. Anger that my mother withheld such valuable information from me, keeping me from accessing my magick. And guilt because if I know her as well as I think I do, I know she kept it from me to keep me safe. Keep me out of King Roman’s hands.

“So…this magick, this Dyrsjel magick, is from the wolves?” Sorin asks and I am grateful he has spoken, leaving me more time to catch my breath.

Galen pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly bored of the topic already. “No, it isn’t always wolves. The animal varies depending on the Enchantress, but an animal, no less.” He turns his gaze back to me. “You could consider the wolves more like your guides. Partners, even. Dyrsjel at the very root means animal soul.” I nod, only once, my mind going through waves of disbelief, then anger, then back to disbelief.

“Dyrsjel blood runs as deep as the trees,” Galen continues. Sam has lowered her bow, though I don’t miss how tightly she still clutches it at her side. “As old and ancient as the dirt we walk on, thus, giving you access to a much deeper pool of magick.” His brows furrow for a moment, as if he’s conjured a thought before returning to his natural smooth disposition. “The caveat,” he continues, shrugging off whatever question popped into his mind, “is that it won’t manifest until you make the bond with your guides as I said before.” He glances again at the wolves and my heart races.

“But my mother was a Seer,” I say, disbelief lining every word. I stand frozen, opening and closing my free hand repetitively at my side. “I don’t possess that gift as far as I know.”

Galen chews his bottom lip for a moment, eyes raking over me but I don’t feel the judgment as I did before in Loxley. Only curiosity.

“That is why they’re here,” he finally says, pointing to the wolves. “To help you. Guide you to your magick, whatever it may be. A Seer or maybe a Healer. We’ll know once you’ve made the bond. The magick you possess is much stronger than the magick of any other Enchantress, you’ll need their help to control it.” My eyes drift to the wolves, then back to Galen. “And as a Dyrsjel,” he continues, “you alone will have control of the Stones.”

There it is.

The truth.

My mother was the only one in Valebridge to perform the Ceremonies for as long as I can remember. The only one who was able to escape with the Stones when King Roman turned against us. She was, without a doubt, a Dyrsjel. As her mother was before her and so on. The Leigh family is one of the last Dyrsjel bloodlines.

And I am the last of the Leighs.

“Isn’t that what the Awakening Ceremony is for?” Sam asks, snapping me back to the present.

“The Ceremony unlocked Elora’s connection with the wolves, but her magick will need to be coaxed out,” Galen shoves his hands in his pockets before he shrugs. “Whatever magick it is you have Mother Gaia knew well enough that you’d need help. Just as your mother likely needed help perfecting her gift of Sight. The wolves will help guide you, once bonded.”

My laugh is nervous and borderline manic as I take in this slew of information. My mother was the Head Enchantress, a powerful Seer. But how powerful must she have been to also be a Dyrsjel if what Galen says is true? The night of my Ceremony she was unable to see the attack coming, how is that possible if she was as powerful as he says?

“I have never even felt magick before.” The admission deflates me even further. “All this time I thought…”

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