CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
“Of course it is. What did I tell you?” Milo rocked forward onto his feet, bouncing into the air to stand. “You’ll still be sore, but as long as you take it easy—”
When my hands grazed the point of impact, a lightning bolt jolted through my skull and I inhaled sharply through clenched teeth.
“Be careful!” Milo’s chastising tone was beyond his years. “Honestly,” he muttered, shaking his head. “As I was saying, you need to take it easy for the rest of the day.” He assessed his person, tapping each pouch and satchel methodically. “Where are you off to? Hopefully it’s nearby.”
“I only know of Grenythwood,” I admitted, rising to my feet with great care.
“I guess they don’t teach much about the regions wherever it is you come from.”
“Hollowmire,” I reminded with a scowl.
Milo rolled his eyes as he tightened his satchel straps. “Fortunately, I’m on my way to the master herbalist in Grenythwood; I am her apprentice,” he said importantly. “It’s probably best if she takes a look at you herself, since I’m not quite as talented just yet.”
“Wait, I thought we were in Grenythwood?”
Dimples indented Milo’s cheeks. “We’re in Grenythwood’s forest, not Grenythwood Village.”
“I’m well aware,” I said with a scoff, as if it were obvious knowledge I’d merely misplaced. The idea that Grenythwood had enough people to form a village was still outside my comprehension.
With only a gentle hum buzzing around my head—a manageable reminder of the injury I’d sustained—I began double-checking my clothing and belongings. The moment I looked down, I felt a wave of dizziness unrelated to my head wound; I was dry.
“What in the depths…”
Milo stopped what he was doing to stare at me. “What?”
“I just nearly drowned in the damn Threshold, but I’m not wet.
I should be soaked through!” I rifled through my leather bag, locating the bread I’d carefully wrapped in kitchen cloth.
It should have been rendered a soggy mess, but as I uncovered the small loaf, it was as dry as when I’d taken it. “I don’t… how…”
Milo watched me, eyes crinkled with humor. “She must have needed to move you.”
His words sent unease creeping down my spine. “What do you mean, she? She who?”
“The Threshold, of course! Not everyone who crosses exits the same way. You could enter through the north and find yourself coming out the west. In fact, you could have ended up outside of Grenythwood entirely. Fortunately for us both, we’re only about a morning’s walk away.
She’s on your side for this one, at the very least! ”
After swallowing hard, I forced myself to look around, half expecting to see the Threshold’s mystifying gloom lapping at the water, but the wall of fog was nowhere in sight.
I was only met with the same trickling stream I’d seen earlier.
I stepped closer, unable to control the unsettled tightening of my mouth as I peered into those waters, searching for any indication that an abyss lurked just beneath the surface.
But I could plainly see the rocks and sediment that made up its bottom.
“I don’t understand,” I forced out. “I—I was under water…”
I nearly startled as Milo sounded from my side. “She’s a mystery to all of us,” he said gently. “Except perhaps the Cleovians, but you’d be hard-pressed to get a lick of information from one of them.”
I turned my back to the creek, unable to look at it any longer. Even just being near its edge and knowing the mud beneath my boots had been made with its water sent me deeper into the forest. I had absolutely no interest in crossing, or touching that damnable stream, ever again.
“Stop!” Milo followed in step. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know!” I shouted, rounding on him.
My emotions were bubbling over, and I no longer had the ability to contain them.
“I don’t know anything, clearly. I was told never to cross that bloody fog, and maybe I should have listened, because now I’m here in the middle of the woods with a miniature herbalist and absolutely no i-idea what I’m d-doing! ”
Milo grimaced, as if he were suddenly very uncomfortable. “There, there,” he said stiffly, reaching up to pat my shoulder. “Don’t cry.”
My throat ached as I stifled the overwhelm that threatened to break me. I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled, furrowing my brow as tightly as I could to prevent my eyes from leaking.
“I’m fine,” I managed.
“Are you sure? You don’t really seem—”
“I. Am. Fine!”
“Whatever you say!” Milo held out his palms in defense, attention falling to the ground. “Well, now that you’re… fine”—he gestured dramatically with his hands—“you might want to follow me, as the village is this way.” And then he was off.
I took a moment to compose myself, running my hands along my bun before patting gently at my warmed cheeks.
I was, quite certainly, the opposite of fine.
Childhood memories clouded my vision, forcing me into the past. I used to hide in the kitchen’s cupboards, conjuring stories in the theatre of my mind to combat the terrors of the Threshold.
My stories featured mystical creatures, unexplainable sorcery, and misunderstood beasts roaming through Grenythwood, swapping their own tall tales of Lunamor and its horrors.
It was nothing more than a childhood fantasy to ease the pervasive fear that had haunted my dreams. A common indulgence of simple children, Linus cruelly reminded me each chance he got.
But as I cast a sideways glance at those unassuming waters, a blanket of unsurety settled over me.
We’d been warned of creatures whose souls had been hidden from the stars, and the indescribable ways they tormented those who fell into their grasp.
Was the Threshold one of these creatures? After all, Milo had called it a “she.”
“Unspeakable horrors. All-consuming, never-ending fear…
…That is what you’re risking by crossing."
Anise’s words sliced through the relief I should have felt for successfully crossing. Had I nearly met those unspeakable horrors at the bottom of the Threshold? My stomach spasmed at the thought.
“Are you coming?” Milo called, leaning up against a tree and observing me with a curious expression on his face.
I met his eyes, chewing my lower lip uncertainly.
Was this little more than a colossal mistake?
I searched my mind for an alternative, for some other means of securing my freedom that hadn’t involved braving the Threshold.
But each time I tried to question myself, I could feel Rowland’s hands roaming my body, his lips urgently exploring my neck.
I dug my fingernails into my palm, forcing the memory away.
I had absolutely made the right choice.
So I inhaled deeply with a sharp nod and followed after Milo, unwilling to acknowledge the small buds of hope peeking through the despair that had settled in my mind.
The mystery of why the young herbalist traveled with about a dozen pouches strapped to his person had been solved.
“Swamp sage!” he’d cry out before throwing himself to the forest floor.
Not a hundred paces later he’d positioned himself over a clump of innocuous green leaves, planting his feet firmly to the ground and grasping the base before pulling with all his might until a massive, gnarled plant uprooted, sending him flying backwards.
Covered in dirt and with the biggest grin, he’d exclaim, “Look at the size of this mammoth root!”
And shortly thereafter…
“Star basil,” he’d moan, crouching by a large bush wafting a delicious, familiar scent, but with peculiar star-shaped leaves.
“What does it taste like?”
“You won’t know until you try,” he had insisted, greedily stuffing one of his pouches to the brim.
Milo was not an unfortunate travel companion to have, even with the frequent stops.
His preoccupation with Grenythwood’s fauna and flora meant he had little time to be nosy.
I enjoyed watching him sprint from one herb to the next, all too eager to spew out facts and herbalist tales indiscriminately.
Although I was longing to lay eyes on the village, the detours were a welcome reprieve for my aching limbs and wandering mind.
“Are you really all right?” Milo asked suddenly while scooting a pair of bright blue grasshoppers into one of his pouches.
Having anticipated a lesson on the etymology of the word grasshopper, it took a moment to realize I’d been asked a question. I adjusted myself atop the fallen tree trunk I’d rested against, assessing my body. “My head’s got this sort of… buzz, since eating the moss. But the pain has ceased.”
“Good,” he said, securing his pouch and casting a glance in my direction. His attention landed squarely on my neck before feigning interest elsewhere. “But that’s not what I meant.”
I understood him, though I couldn’t let the question reach me.
Instead, I chewed my lower lip while pressing my feet into the dead leaves littering the forest floor, attempting to ground myself against his kind-hearted inquiry.
The truth was too overwhelming to confront, but perhaps too large to deny entirely.
When I finally managed to secure a response, it was little more than deflection.
“Then what did you mean?”
Milo resumed the journey, effortlessly maneuvering over protruding roots and sharp boulders. “When you were calm and fine earlier”—his words curved audibly around his ill-stifled grin—“you let slip that you were told never to cross into Grenythwood.”
“I did,” I admitted. I followed in his footsteps carefully, choosing to ignore the obvious way he poked at my meltdown.
“Things must have been pretty bad for you to cross, then.”
“You’re wiser than you appear at first glance.”
Milo gave me a rather unimpressed look.
“That was meant to be a compliment!”
“I know, I know, but you sure do care a lot about what people look like.”
“I do not,” I said guardedly, lowering my head to avoid a sprawling, leafless branch.
As if I hadn’t spoken, Milo continued, “Is that important, where you’re from?”