Page 72 of Through the Wicked Wood

The distorted birch trees curve into a tunnel. The faint morning light at the end and Elora’s steady breaths give me the last bit of strength I need. My feet carry us feverishly through. Step by step, I will get us out of here. Alaric and Ruse’s howls lead me in the correct direction, and despite the burning of my lungs, I push on. Almost there. As my boots pass the final threshold of the woods, an array of voices scream behind me. Different languages, most of which I can't understand.

Grawgeth.

Completely winded, I topple out of the trees, still clutching Elora to my chest as Galen, Sam, and Jarek meet us on the other side. “Is she hurt?” Sam asks, at my side in an instant. Unable to find my own voice, I nod my head, still trying to catch my breath.

“Set her down.” Galen’s tone is firm, but I do as he says, gently laying Elora onto the forest floor, swallowing down the fear that creeps up my throat. Galen sets to work. Checking Elora’s pulse, putting his head to her chest to make sure her breathing isn’t labored, visually checking for any wounds. A small speck of blood is smeared under her chin, but it’s nothing compared to her foot. Peeling off her boot, the damage is evident. Dark red and swollen, I swear under my breath.

Ruse disappears to the forest while Alaric stays glued to my side, letting out the occasional whimper as we both watch Galen work. Galen sets back on his heel as the massive wolf approaches his side, nudging Elora’s limp arm. Tipping his head back, he lets out a long, low howl.

“She’s breathing steadily and from what I can tell the only injury is to her right foot,” Galen says. His voice is assured but there’s a slight tension in it that has my nerves on edge. Pushing the hair back from his eyes, I can see the wearisome look he was averting. “It could be broken, but I can’t be certain. Regardless, it will take some time to heal. I have a tonic in my pack, it will help alleviate some of the pain. As for the rest,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders, “she could be in shock, I’m not sure. All we can do now is monitor her until she regains consciousness and make sure she doesn’t decline.”

“And if she does?” Sam’s voice cracks as she untucks herself from Jarek’s arms. “If she declines?”

Galen’s sigh is long and labored, as if he, himself, fights some other emotion he refuses to show. “Then we take it from there.”

“Set up the tents, we’ll camp here until she wakes,” I say. Kneeling down, I brush a few strands of hair from Elora’s face. Jarek’s hand is heavy as it rests atop my shoulder.

“Sorin,” Jarek says, “we have no idea how long she could be unconscious. If we don’t keep moving—"

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” I snap, keeping my focus on Elora. Shrugging his hand off my shoulder, I lift her head and tuck my cloak under it. “Set up the tents.”

Without another word, the sounds of scuffling starts behind me. Of course, Jarek is right. This is not the most protected spot to camp for the night. Especially since Elora used her magick, I have no doubt hunters are already on our trail. All my mind can focus on is her. Whatever comes next, we can handle it.

Alaric sits at my side, watching Elora just as intently as I do. Brushing a kiss to her forehead, it is only then I realize, I no longer bear any ink on my arm.

* * *

Night falls in a deep shroud of purple, the crackling of the fire offers the only break in silence as the four of us sit huddled around for warmth. The elevation gain on the other side of the Wicked Wood does not go unnoticed. Summer is a distant memory as yellowing leaves litter the ground. I bundled Elora in both of our cloaks, though with how closely both wolves have kept to her, I’m not sure she needs them. Jarek wordlessly helped me lift her to my tent, tucking her in with a beast flanking either side of her.

I sit facing the tent around the hissing fire, thoughts of dread pooling in my mind when I feel Sam’s hand slip into mine.

“She’ll be all right, Sorin.” Reluctantly, I pull my gaze from the tent to face her. “I know she will,” she says. Her voice is comforting, though I’m not sure she even believes what she’s saying. Squeezing her hand, I offer a quick nod and half-hearted smile before returning my eyes to the tent. I should not have brought us here.

“When we were inside…the Wicked Wood,” Jarek starts, as he tosses another log into the flames. “Did any of you…hear anything?” The rippling plumes dance in the sky as the new log crackles and burns.

“I heard voices,” Sam whispers, her eyes distant as she watches the flames. “I swear I could hear my father.”

“I heard voices too,” Jarek says, nodding. Crossing his giant arms, he leans forward for a bit more warmth. I peer to Galen who also nods, silently confirming that they had all heard the same thing. Voices of their past. I can’t help but think of the memory brought forth in the Wood. My mother and Elora’s mother. How they spoke of the Fates. How Elora and I would find each other.

“The voices I heard sounded just like my sisters,” Jarek continues, pulling me from my memory, “but something was different about them. Like they were trying to talk under water, muffled and cloudy. But still, I’m sure it was them.” He runs a hand down his face and over his beard before he leans back from the flames and glances toward Sam and I. “Why didn’t you tell us of the bargain?” Jarek isn’t normally one to push for the truth but after how today went, I don’t blame him for being curious. Sam sucks in a breath, but I cut her off before she can begin.

“I should have, and I’m sorry I didn’t,” I admit, and I mean it. “I should have given you the opportunity to say no, to decline coming here.” I pull my attention to Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have put you in this situation again.” She leans her head against my shoulder, and I’m grateful for my sister. For her kindness and forgiving nature, even if I don’t deserve it. Especially when I don’t deserve it.

“What does another year sooner mean, exactly?” Galen asks, crossing his arms behind his head before settling back onto a fallen log.

“It means,” I say, as Sam straightens herself from my shoulder, “I would have given Grawgeth my life one year earlier than I originally agreed.”

“And when did you agree?” Galen asks again, his tone curt and icy. I don’t blame him for being unhappy with me, I withheld the truth from him as well. “When were you going to give her your life? Your soul?”

Swallowing, I eye my friend through the flames. His sharp face and blue eyes show no sign of worry, only curiosity, though his voice tells a different story. “I bargained the last ten years of my life to the nymph to save Samaria. And this time, I agreed she could…have me one year sooner. Freeing her from the woods. I would have taken her place.” Shame and guilt riddle my insides as I say the words aloud, but it was the only way to save Sam then, and it was the best way to save everyone this time.

“But you don’t know when the last ten years of your life will be,” Galen says, keeping his narrowed eyes locked on me.

“Correct,” I say with a shrug. “The bargain could be called in today. Tomorrow. I wouldn’t have known.”

“Reckless,” Jarek says, moving to slide in next to Sam.

“True,” I agree.

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