Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
“So what, we just sit here and wait?” Rena’s hands were planted upon her hips, her golden curls blowing in the wind.
The tree line of the wild wood stood at our backs, the cliffs of the northern fjords roughly fifteen paces ahead.
I refused to step any closer than where we were now, my body trembling even thinking of the drop to the sea far, far below.
We had been searching for nearly three hours now for any sign of life. Smoke from a fire, a little cabin that an old woman may reside within, footprints in the packed snow. Yet there was nothing.
Another dead end, another waste of our time.
We were going to fail miserably and Kairen’s tyrant brother was surely going to take the throne at this rate.
The Prince raked his hands through his dark hair, golden eyes burning with the frustration that I knew was clawing away at him. “Just let me think for a minute, will you?”
Rena scoffed. “You have been leading us around on this Goddess-damned quest with nothing to show for it, Kai. Where are we supposed to go after this? How do you expect us to make a cure when we have absolutely nothing!”
Her voice rose to a shrill cry, her hands flying in the air and he snapped. Flames lit across his clenched fists, his head turning to the sea as he let out yell, fire flaming from his mouth like the great winged beasts of fairytales and fantasy.
On instinct I stumbled, my back hitting something hard. Hands turned me, pressing my face to a wall of solid muscle. “Kairen, enough.” Roan bit out.
Kairen turned, his body steaming in the frigid air and it was as if…the anger just melted from him. His shoulders sagged, his face falling and then he was turning, walking away.
“Give him some time to cool off,” Roan spoke softly to Rena. “We’re all frustrated, but I don't think it’s just this quest. These woods, it’s doing something to us, messing with our emotions. We all just need a break, okay?”
So we set to make camp, though the sun was nowhere near setting. A bit of extra rest would do us all some good.
I sat before the crackling fire, the book of myths and legends spread upon my lap as I thumbed mindlessly through the pages.
“Read one aloud?” The request came from Roan, his knee brushing mine as Bran stirred a pot swinging above the open flame.
He may not have had an affinity for potions, but growing up with a Potions Master for a mother, the man knew how to make fabulous tea.
The scent of chamomile and lavender was carried on the breeze as my lips twisted in my attempt to find which story to tell.
Finally settling on a page, my throat cleared. Roan leaned back, his eyes closing and Rena sat forward, eager for the tale. Even Kairen, who had returned not long ago with a sullen look and had sat before the fire without a word, glanced towards me.
“The story of me and Mireya is one that can be so easily disillusioned when one puts their pen to paper, for there are no words in our human language to encompass the gravity of their tale.” I began, lips curving with a small smile.
Yasmine’s father was certainly a storyteller, a rather fine one at that.
“me was born to the Sun and Mireya, well, she belonged to the Moon. They lived in a small northern village where the snow never melted, but the birds still sang their cheery morning tune. The girls grew to be beautiful, the ‘flowers of the northern winter’ they were called. They were friends so close that if you saw one, the other would never be far behind.”
“But you see, dear listener, this story is not one of simple love.” My voice dropped, taking on a soft and lilting tone.
“It is one of the fiercest of friendships. The most precious form love can take. For a wicked nobleman heard of the beautiful me, with her silken waves dark as the wings of a raven and her eyes green as a summer meadow. He wished for a wife born to the Sun that could rival Soli herself in beauty and grace.”
“And when he laid eyes upon the woman the tales had spun, his greed knew no bounds. me refused him day and night, vowed before her Goddess that she would never marry a man such as him. For riches and ambition were not what she sought. She loved her little northern village, loved the life she lived in the quiet and cold with her dearest friend. But the nobleman who had never been able to take a refusal continued his advances.”
“What a prick,” Rena murmured, sipping the tea Bran had passed around the fire. I hummed my agreement.
“One fateful night, the man stole poor me away into the wild wood of the north. But hear this dear listener, the Moon always knows. It sees and hears in the shadows that roam this earth and it knew that her friend, a child of its own, would miss her dearly. For the girls were two halves of one soul—never could they stray far from one another.”
“So they spoke to Mireya in the dark of the night, whispering of the thief who had stolen the woman of Earth and Sun. Mireya made haste to the wild wood, her only wish to save me.” I took a sip of the tea, my throat going dry as I continued to read.
“Mireya, who had never before stepped foot into the wild wood grew lost among its gnarled branches and dense foliage. For it is a place older than the Goddesses themselves, full of creatures and magic unknown. Scared and alone, the girl curled upon the dark of the forest floor and cried her sorrow, her tears sinking deep and deep past the snow and into the dirt beneath.”
“And that magic that runs through the roots, the trees, and everything in between felt her sorrow, fed upon it as it drank her tears.
Moved by the girl's desperation to aid her friend, the wild wood chose to help, to lead her where she needed to venture.
It's said that light appeared before Mireya, silver little wisps that led her through the confusing bramble.”
“And there on the forest floor, laid me, her skin and clothing covered in crimson. You see, me, a girl gentle of heart and soul, had killed the wicked nobleman. Torn his eyes from his head and his tongue from his mouth. The beautiful flower of the north had grown thorns and had fought for her very survival.”
“And so, Mireya had settled upon the ground beside her and together they dug deep into the earth until their nails cracked and their skin tore. When they finished, they pushed the wicked nobleman into the grave they had dug and the wild wood swallowed him whole. Vines and roots grew over his body and the women swore to never speak to another of what they had done.”
“You might ask how, if they had promised to never tell another, I am telling you this tale. That is a simple answer, dear listener. For just as magic can be helpful, it too can be cunning and cruel. The trees whispered of the death that clung to the beautiful flowers of the north, to the blood that stained and wilted their blossoming petals.”
“And soon all knew and whispered of the nobleman who had not returned home, who had come for the hand of the woman of Sun and Earth and vanished.”
“Their end is not known, that of me and Mireya. Some say they were tied to the stake and burned for the crime. Others claim they disappeared into the wild wood never to be seen again, their souls claimed by the roots and dirt of the dark, magic-infested woods. Regardless of which version you wish to believe, they all say the same. To the very end, wherever their souls rest—they rest together.”
I let out a breath, closing the book and glanced around at the others.
“I don’t know whether to love it or hate it,” Rena murmured, her hands rubbing up and down her arms. “It was beautiful, but haunting.”
“The man has a penchant for storytelling,” Bran agreed, his lips twisting. I felt Roan's thoughtful gaze assessing me.
“The wild wood helped them only to betray them after, that doesn’t make sense?”
“Perhaps it wished for them to return,” Kairen answered, eyes finding his friend. “Maybe it wished to keep them within the forest. Even the blessed magic we have is fickle, I can imagine the magic of these woods is even more so.”
My hands clutched tightly around the journal. “If that’s the true version,” I mused, “the other says they burned upon the stake.”
“Whatever their fate held,” Rena spoke around a yawn, her hand waving, “they seem more like lovers than friends. I hope they lived happily in the wild wood and made a home of it.”
I smiled, closing the journal as I ran a hand gently over the cover.
“Who has first watch tonight, then?” Bran asked, popping his knuckles as he fought off his own yawn.
My watch was third, sleep clinging to me as Rena shook me awake.
The chill was biting as I sat with my back to the fire, looking out into the dark woods.
Even now, with the eerie feeling of this place, my heart still yearned for the night.
When the moon was high and the shadows were long and winding.
I listened and watched, hugging my knees close to my body. We’d all been more alert on our shifts since the dread feeders had attacked, but the woods remained quiet and still. My gaze shifted, eyes growing heavy once more until—
There. Something moved.
I stood, slowly and carefully, gaze narrowing where I swear I had just seen—
Again. In the trees, a light danced around the gnarled branches. Stepping closer, the shadows stirred within me, practically purring their content.
Yessss. They hissed.
Follow the light, little shadow blessed.
My head tilted when I realized they were right.
It wasn’t a creature, nor a person, exuding the light, but little silver orbs that twirled and twined through the trees, beckoning me closer.
They were enchanting little things that sparkled through the darkness.
My steps were soft as I entered the wild wood, gaze transfixed.
Some part of me, deep within, urged me further—until it was the only thing I could think of.
A voice, not my own nor was it the shadows, that was calling to me.
Telling me I must follow, I must see what they wish to show.
But I had been doing something, hadn’t I? A job that was important for my—
My who? I could not remember. All I knew was the silver light, and the path they led me upon. I didn’t flinch when the reaching branches caught in my hair, nor when thorns and bushes stabbed through the wool of my clothes. I didn’t know how far I walked or how long.
Eventually they led me to a clearing in the trees, a cliffside where the sea thrashed against the rock far, far below.
Near the ledge there stood a building of crumbling stone, the steps weathered and broken apart.
The lights danced around it, joyful as they swarmed and twined through my hair and over my arms.
Here. Here. Here.
They seemed to sing, so loud it left my heart racing, my soul quaking.
What was this place? My steps were hesitant, a sort of fear I hadn’t felt before making my mind spin. Where was I? I was supposed to be—
A temple of old, left to rot here in the wood.
The shadows sang, urging me closer.
Crumbled and forgotten.
Where the sea meets the cliffside, where old and new meld into one.
Where the moon meets the rubble of the past.
I knew those words, knew they were important. Where had I heard them?
Go.
The shadows urged and my feet moved, stepping carefully up the broken steps as I entered the crumbling temple.
The inside was no better, cracked stone and debris everywhere.
Vines and thick moss covered the walls, grew through the cracks, but in the wall that overlooked the sea was a window.
A beautiful, eerie thing that had me stepping further into the old temple.
The moon sat in its center, its silver light casting over the ruins, bathing me in its glow.
The little silver orbs spun around me, dancing and cheery as they drew me closer.
They buzzed with an energy that left my head spinning, and then they were gone.
Disappeared in a second and the haze that had shrouded my mind slowly lifted.
A small noise sounded in my throat as my head fell to my hands as I tried to reorient.
I should be on watch back at the campsite. Why had they led me here? Were they the silver lights from the story of me and Mireya? Did they wish to help, would I find Misha here?
“Hello little shadow-blessed.” A voice crooned, dark and rasping. “Or is it shadow-cursed these days? It’s so hard to keep up with the little politics of your kingdom.”
A dagger was in my palm an instant later as I slowly spun, but saw no one. Trying to keep the shaking from my voice I called, “Who are you?”
A figure emerged from behind a crumbling pillar, darkness clinging to his crooked form.
His back was hunched, legs bent at old angles, his hands curled with nails long and sharp as talons that dragged and scraped across the floor.
I raised the blade higher as he glanced up at me through dark, black hair.
His eyes were red. Red as blood spilt upon fresh snow, full of derision and delight.
“I’ve waited so long to meet you and this is how you greet me?” His laugh was a cackle, rasping and insidious, “Allow me to at least introduce myself before you point a blade at me.”
“Then name yourself,” I hissed, my fear morphing, solidifying into anger as my heart beat wildly in my chest.
His grin widened, too wide as it pulled the skin around his mouth far too taut. “I believe you mortals call me Dedrio.”