Page 78 of Through the Wicked Wood

“No,” he says, leaning forward so his elbows are placed on either knee. “It would appear you are an enigma. Dyrsjel magick and an Elemental, you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He laughs.

Laughs.

Smiling, I reach down and rub my foot, the ache becoming increasingly worse since the tonic wore off from earlier. “I still don’t understand how the Elemental magick works,” I admit. “It’s as though it has a mind of its own.”

“That’s because it does,” Galen says casually. I glance at him again. “Magick is like a living being. It breathes, hides, unleashes its fury just as we do from time to time.” I study his face as he speaks. The sharp lines of his jaw and nose. His high cheekbones and glacial eyes. This is possibly the most alone time we’ve had together and as I take him in, he looks relaxed. Comfortable. “But it’s why you have the wolves,” Galen continues. “They’re here to guide you into your magick. You are very powerful, Elora,” he whispers, glancing at the flames.

Glancing at my foot, I smirk. “I don’t feel very powerful at the moment.”

Galen nods, then bends down and reaches for something. “Take this rock,” he says before hurling it at me through the fire. The abruptness catches me off guard, and I clumsily catch the rock before it hits me in the face. I shoot a narrowed gaze that he returns with a smile. “In my hands, it’s nothing more than a bit of stone. But in yours…turn it to water,” he says flatly, as if he’s asking me to sew a button or stir a pot of soup.

Gripping the rock in my hands, I turn it over and under a few times before calling for my magick. The wolves appear from the woods a moment later, making Galen jump slightly. I smile. “It isn’t safe,” I whisper. “The hunters—”

“They’re likely already on our trail, practicing one more time won’t hurt. We’ll be gone from here long before they catch up. Now turn it to water,” he says a little more firmly. Sighing, I turn my attention back to the rock. Alaric plants himself at my side, his energy bringing me the calm I need to focus.

Listen to him, Alaric says.

I glare at the giant wolf for not taking my side, then close my eyes just as I had the other day with the moose. The stone sits heavily in my hand. It’s cold, smooth. Gripping it into my palm, I reach for my magick, slowly waking it up after a few days rest. My skin prickles as I focus on the rock, envisioning it turning to a pool of water.

Nothing happens.

Snapping my eyes open, I drop the rock onto the dirt.

“Keep trying,” Galen says, moving to seat himself closer to me. “You can do this, Elora. I’ve seen how powerful you are, now you just need to believe it yourself. Lean into the wolves, let them help you.”

His tone is soft, so different from when we first met. He smiles at me again and my heart warms. It’s only now I realize how grateful I am for Galen. Of course, I’m grateful for Sam and Sorin and Jarek, but in a different way. I’m grateful for Sorin’s passion, his ability to see me for who I am. I’m grateful for Sam’s jubilant outlook on life, even when it hasn’t treated her fairly. For Jarek’s softness, his patience. I could easily afford to borrow any one of their best traits.

But it’s Galen’s firm, quiet presence that has kept me centered. He’s encouraged me, in his own way. Pushed me. Believed in me but not coddled me.

I find strength in his blunt words. Comfort in the way he doesn’t try to be anything but himself. Even if that means being cold and distant at times. We’re not that different, he and I and it’s only now that I see it. He nods in my direction, gesturing to the rock with his hands.

I find myself grounded in his confidence, his belief in me. Taking a large breath, I try again.

“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, picking the rock back up.

Focusing again on the physical form of the rock, I close my eyes and envision it turning to water just as I had envisioned the branch turning to ice. Alaric’s presence in my mind is like a warm blanket, or a soft pillow. Ready to catch me if I fall. So, I drop my guard completely and let him push me forward.

A few moments later, the hard stone in my hand dissipates. Snapping my eyes open, they widen in disbelief. The rock is completely gone; my hand is soaked from a puddle of water that has taken its place. Alaric licks my cheek before he settles onto the ground beside me.

I whip my head to Galen, a smile tugging at his lips before he says, “Very good.”

* * *

Excitement laces with dread as we fold up our tents the next morning, rolling them neatly and storing them into our various packs. Part of me wishes we could stay in this moment forever. With Sorin and our friends and the wolves surrounded by the trees and the songbirds. Splitting up the day-to-day tasks and ending every evening in the warmth of Sorin’s arms. A beam of hope shoots through me as I envision a similar life together in Loxley. How easy it would be to slip into the same routine. How much I would love nothing more. Then, as it always does, reality crashes back into me.

Sorin’s goal is not a quiet life in the woods. He will be King of Valebridge. I don’t allow myself to wonder how I fit into his future, because while his goals are mountainous, so are mine. With the Stones back in Enchantress hands, there will be so much work to do before I’m bound to the Wicked Woods. I believe Sorin when he says he’ll end the Enchantress oppression, but what will that mean for them? How does life after being kept in a cage for years look? How will they start again?

I haven’t been sure of my place here, among the four friends, but I’m certain my destiny is grander than hiding in my cabin. My eyes fall to Sorin as he secures his bow across his back. My stomach swirls, his dark eyes narrowing as he laughs at something Jarek’s said. The promises he spoke in the quiet of night now are so loud and unobtainable in the bright light of day. My skin itches as I hold the mask in place where the ink swirls up the back of my neck. Sorin catches my gaze from across the camp, his smile leaving a weakness in my knees, making me forget instantly about the annoying itch. I smile back. If this time together is all we’re allotted in this life, I’ll be grateful for it.

* * *

“We’ve got about a day's walk to the base of Kirsgard Mountain from here,” Sorin says, pausing to take a deep drink from his canteen before tightening the cap back in place. “We’ll camp overnight. Then, we follow Elora’s lead up the mountain.” My heart drops. All these weeks this has been the plan and yet to be this close to where I lost everything, nagging doubt claws at the back of my mind.

Not good enough.

Keeping my face as neutral as possible I offer a quick nod in understanding. “There’s a small path, at the base of the mountain,” I say. “It’s rarely used because of how dense the foliage grows there.” I shut my eyes momentarily. Remembering the last time I used the trail, how the snow crunched under my boots, how the screams echoed in my ears. How it was the last time I saw my family. Sorin’s hand slips into mine, anchoring me to the present.

“It’s a steep trek, we’ll likely be better off leaving most of our supplies hidden at the bottom. Bring only the weapons you carry on your back.” I eye my friends, each of them watching me speak with such trepidation, fueling the confidence I need to do this. “ Once we get to the top, I’ll lead the way to where I believe the Stones remain.” I take a deep breath to collect myself. I never dreamt of going back to Kirsgard, its unyielding nightmares in the years past have daunted me enough.

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