Page 63 of Through the Wicked Wood

Use your magick, Elora. Ruse’s sweet voice is clear amidst the chaos. You need to help them.

The moose has cornered the rest of the group, arrows whiz through the air while Jarek aimlessly swings his ax.

Trust yourself, Ruse says again. We are with you.

Moving my hands away from my daggers, I take a quick breath to ground myself. Whatever magick I conjured last night, it was fueled by rage. And I have plenty of that still brewing. I hang my hands by my sides, and just as I’m about to open myself up to whatever magick I possess, whatever magick the wolves are coaxing out of me, I freeze.

The moment I use this magick, hunters will sense it. Panic replaces fear and I quickly close my palms as the moose bellows out another howl.

I have been here before. Frozen in fear as the people I care for face danger. My eyes dart between the group and the moose.

No.

I will not be afraid again.

Listening for Alaric and Ruse’s direction, they stalk the animal on either side.

Ruse’s voice fills my ears.

Listen to the forest, Elora.

Listen.

I have seconds to take in my surroundings. Sorin and Samaria continue their tandem shooting, landing each arrow to the moose, though with its massive size, it is not enough. Jarek’s ax lands a blow against the beast's leg, causing a low yell to pierce through the woods.

“You need to aim for his heart!” Galen yells, tossing his bag aside, he approaches Sorin.

Listen, Alaric says.

“We’ve hit it a dozen times!” Sam yells, her voice strained as she reaches for her last arrow. The moose lets out a deep, long, bellow as it charges, filling the gap between them. Jarek swings his ax again, but this time, he isn’t fast enough. The moose lowers his massive antlers. Bone and rot and earth collide with Jarek’s chest, sending him backward into a tree with a loud crunch.

Listen.

My heart races, but I sense it. An itch against my palms. My magick filling my palms. Magick I have no idea how to wield, but I do as Ruse says. For a split second I tune out of the chaos and I listen to the forest.

A breeze. The rustle of leaves.

A faint call of birds in the distance.

Scraping and swinging of branches.

Branches.

“Don’t get bitten!” Galen shouts in my direction as Sorin readies another arrow, but it will not be enough.

None of it will.

I click my tongue, alerting the wolves. Ruse and Alaric sprint forward and flank the infected animal as I make my approach to its backside. The moose lets out a low wail as he veers toward Sam, cornering her between himself and a tree. The wolves move swiftly to cage the animal in. Magick stings against my palms, scraping down the corridors of my mind. It whispers against my skin, calling to me. Yearning like lovers that have been separated for far too long. My mind opens to the elements around me until there is only one beaming at the forefront.

Earth.

Branches.

A thick branch riddled with pine needles lies above Samaria’s head where she’s trapped against a tree. The moose dips his head again, scraping and prying with those wraith-like antlers as Sam burrows herself deepening into the tree’s trunk. Sorin shoots his final arrow, though it lands, the moose doesn’t so much as balk. Galen has pulled Jarek out of the line of attack, checking him over for injury.

I focus on the pine needles, honing in on the rage of yesterday when I set the moss aflame.

Lifting my hands, I close my eyes. Little by little, the magick expels from my palms, an invisible force weaves through the air. My body slicks with sweat as I pour every ounce of energy into the branch with pine needles, into my magick. I sense the wolves at my sides without even looking. Sense their own magick, ancient and sentient. I lean into their presence, allowing them to guide me, just as Galen said. Closing my eyes, they’re there. Alaric and Ruse are with me, guiding and pulling my magick toward the branches. It pushes through the air, through Sam’s screams until it reaches the branch and wraps around it.

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