Page 62 of Through the Wicked Wood

Following Ruse’s lead we make our way back toward Karos Falls, and ultimately, back toward camp. About halfway there faint shouts in the distance halt my steps.

“Elora! Ruse! Alaric!”

The multitude of voices are easy to decipher; Sam, Jarek, and Sorin all shouting our names at different times. Dread ripples over me at the sound of them. My stomach twists and I’m uncertain if it’s because of the guilt for letting them worry, or if I’m dreading seeing them altogether.

As we crest the hill and peer down toward the falls, I spot Sorin first. His brows are furrowed and eyes lost as he shouts across the way to Galen. Something about going to check the caverns again. I watch Sorin for a moment, his hair is disheveled and darkness encircles his eyes.

My traitorous heart skips a beat as he runs toward the cavern. I consider leaving now. With the wolves, I could easily make it back to my part of the Trinity Forest in a week's time. I could quickly turn and run, swift and soundless, with the beasts at my sides.

As suddenly as the thought comes, it escapes even faster as Sam pulls away from where she was buried against Jarek’s chest.

My heart sinks. I can’t leave her like this. She deserves her chance with the Stones just as much as I did. Possibly even more. The wolves pace impatiently at my sides until I reluctantly give them the go ahead to head to camp. As they come bounding down the hillside, Sam shouts Alaric’s name. Rushing toward him she draws her eyes upward until they meet mine. Something resembling relief settles over her face as she takes off in a sprint up the hill. Slowly, I make my way forward.

“Thank the Mother!” Her voice is hoarse, maybe from shouting, and her breathing heavy as she grasps me in a firm hug. I wrap my arms loosely around her waist as she squeezes a little too tightly around my shoulders. Pulling back, she cradles my face in her hands. “You’re okay?”

I nod in reply, not trusting myself to speak just yet, offering nothing more than a pathetic smile I know she’ll see through.

“We were so worried. When the boys came back to the tents…we couldn’t find you,” she trails off for a moment. “What happened?” she asks, scanning my face. Likely looking for any ailments, any injury, any reason I may have gotten held up in the woods. But she’ll find none. None on the exterior anyway.

“The wolves and I went for a run.” I skirt my way around the full truth. I want to trust Sam but after knowing how big a secret Sorin kept, the weight of his betrayal hangs over all of them. “Just trying to get a feel for each other,” I say, gesturing toward Ruse and Alaric. “We got caught up by some fallen logs up over the hilltop. Lost track of time, but I’m fine. I swear it.” I smile again before making my way around her.

As I glance down at the camp Sorin stands breathless from running back from the cavern. Galen and Jarek are pulling down the tents but halt as they notice my return. My skin itches from looking at them, and the betrayal and hurt I buried within myself last night comes rushing back. But I pull myself together, linking my arm with Sam’s as she catches up to me.

Sorin starts in our direction but, for whatever reason, stops. The smile he shoots me is weak, and despite my plan to keep my cool, I don’t send him one in return. I veer toward the emerald pools of the falls instead.

Cupping the water in my hands, I splash it over my face and rub at my eyes. The chill of the freezing water shakes the rest of my senses awake. Inhaling the crisp morning air, it wraps itself around my chest. It’s cold this morning. So cold the air stings as it hits my lungs. I take another deep breath, then hold it to the point of pain before letting it loose, long and slow. As I stand to meet the others, a deep crashing noise shatters through the woods from where the wolves and I just came.

Silence falls over the remnants of our camp. Frozen in anticipation, no one moves, myself included. I meet Sorin’s eyes briefly and my stomach dips, he opens his mouth to say something but before he can, I redirect my attention to the hill. Alaric and Ruse, at my side, hunch over. Their barred teeth and low growls crawl over my skin. My hand drags to my dagger. But a voice—not those of the demons that thrash against my mind, but Alaric’s—reminding me, I don’t need the daggers anymore.

I don’t know what magick I’m supposed to wield. I argue through our new bond. Last night when I turned moss to smoldering embers, I wasn’t even trying. How am I supposed to know what to do now?

Trust yourself. Alaric’s voice is low, rumbling, but assuring nonetheless.

Another deep split of a log followed by a low guttural moan crests over the hill. I cut a glance to the rest of the crew. Sorin and Sam ready with their bows, Jarek with his axes. Galen is hunched behind a tree, opening his pack low to the ground.

The ground rattles and I snap my attention back to the hill and to the large animal bounding down it. The sharp hiss of an arrow through the air is the only other sound. It lands directly in the animal’s chest.

Sorin.

Another arrow.

Following its flight line, my eyes widen as the giant half decaying moose makes its way straight toward the others. The beast is massive, at least ten feet tall, dwarfing the wolves that stand at my sides. Moss and thorns drip from its skeletal antlers, its skin is sallow and rotten. Decay sinks where its eye sockets should be. But the animal’s pace is strong, despite both of Sorin’s arrows protruding from his chest.

Another whiz of an arrow. It takes me a moment to realize it is actually two arrows. Sam and Sorin shoot in perfect harmony, landing blows against the moose, or what is left of it, with precision. Yet, its pace doesn’t falter.

The moose lets out a higher pitched moan this time as an arrow strikes just below his jaw. Half of its face is rotted down to the bone. Flesh drips down the other half, almost as if it’s been melted off. The stench of decay fills the air as the animal makes its final steps down the hill.

“He’s got Deathcap!” Galen shouts, reaching inside of his pack and pulling out a vial.

I click my tongue and without question the wolves and I bolt toward the crew and the moose.

Stay back. Don’t get bitten. I warn them as we near the infected animal.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had any lessons, but Deathcap is not something so easily forgotten. An infection of the bloodstream from ingesting poisonous mushrooms located in the thickest parts of the forest. Transferable by bite, we’d have minutes to live before our skin would be melting from our bodies, just as the moose is now. The larger the animal, the longer the effects would take to set in. And by the size of this moose, he’s been infected for quite some time and no doubt gone rabid from the sickness.

Reacting on instinct, I move to the rear of the moose. Keeping myself low to the ground, Ruse slides next to me on my right, her thick coat grazing my arm.

I draw my hands to my daggers again, desperate for the weight of them.

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