Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sylvi
The forest grew quieter with every step Draumskelmir took, muffling the world into a dreamlike hush.
The golden orb floated ahead like a ghost light, the wisp flickering just enough to keep the path lit.
Teeth clattering and my bones trembling profusely, I cradled Jack tighter, my hand slick with his blood.
His tunic was soaked, and his sagging weight only added to my worry.
Coupled with the fact that I didn’t know how much longer I could tolerate the brutal cold without succumbing to it…
Skadi, please protect us.
Despite being close to losing consciousness, Jack raised his gaze, head bobbing in time with Draumskelmir’s stride. “We’re being tracked…”
I scanned the trees, every branch and shadow suspicious, but nothing stirred.
“Leave me, Syl. Draum can move faster with less weight.”
“Did you get skewered through the head, too?” My breath misted in the freezing air as I searched the darkness.
“Syl…”
“No. Not happening,” I stuttered, lips numb. “We’re almost there anyway.”
“Where exactly is there?”
“Wherever the wisp is leading us.”
“Wisp?” He attempted to sit straighter, but his head lolled. “Those little tricksters…can’t be trusted…”
“Yeah, well, hopefully it’s not leading us to our deaths.”
He slumped against me again, silent now. That wasn’t good. I needed to keep him awake. Keep him grounded in this world. I gave his shoulder a light shake. “Hey, did I ever tell you it was a wisp that led me to you when we first met?”
“Hmm?” The sound barely left his lips.
“A wisp. I was lost in your mom’s maze, and it appeared out of nowhere. I followed it, and that’s how I found you.”
Breaths heavy, he said, “Wisps…don’t leave…the forest…”
“That one did, and—”
I couldn’t finish my sentence.
Half-hidden in the misty forest and nestled between two gnarled yew trees, a crooked little cabin emerged like it had grown from the earth itself. Its roof was thatched with winter-dried reeds, its stone walls pressed with runes I didn’t recognize, glowing faintly as we approached.
The orb flared, then vanished like it was never there.
Draumskelmir halted as though he knew we’d reached the end of the trail.
He knelt, and I slid down first, my boots crunching against the frosted ground.
Jack slumped heavily against me, his body boneless.
His blood dripped everywhere, soaking through his tunic, staining my hands, leaking warmth with every shallow breath, the dark veins spidering from the wound now reaching his neck.
Jack’s legs gave out and he collapsed onto the ground, taking me down with him. I scrambled to make sure he landed on his back.
My heart stilled when he didn’t open his eyes, his mouth hanging open. I shook him hard. “Jack!” I pressed trembling fingers to his neck and gasped when I felt the faintest flutter of a pulse. Relief rushed in, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t waking.
“Please!” I cried toward the cabin. “Somebody. I need help!”
The door creaked open, and an older female appeared. Bent and bundled in a tattered shawl, she ambled out of the cabin, her wiry, silver hair shimmering. Her face mapped the passage of time, but her moonstone eyes glowed with sharp, eerie awareness.
Relief bubbled out of me. “Please, we need a healer.”
“Took you long enough, deary,” she muttered.
I blinked. “You…were expecting us?”
“Yes. And we best hurry. He looks like he’s lost a lot of blood.” She glanced into the woods. “Bjarnalf, bring him in. Quickly.”
A massive white bear emerged from the forest like a living ghost, larger than any natural beast, its fur shimmering like ice crystals.
A scream froze in my throat as the bear reared up on its hind legs, towering above me, its paws leaving thick footprints in the snow. I flung myself over Jack, shielding him with my body, claws tearing from my fingertips.
The bear stopped short, its black eyes meeting mine, and in them, I saw no hunger, no threat. Only an ancient, sorrowful knowing. A resigned understanding. As if he’d forgotten for a moment that people feared him whenever they saw him.
He sighed, a sound that sounded more like a rumble. “Fret not, little one. I mean him no harm.” His voice was deep, graveled with age. Almost…regal.
My breath hitched. “You…speak?”
“Já. All our kind does, little one. Come now, we must tend to him at once before Náldrún claims his soul.”
He reached down and lifted Jack as though he weighed nothing at all, cradling him like a child.
I followed, stunned, the cold permeating through my body almost forgotten.
I was unable to wrap my mind around what I was seeing.
Magical creatures ran abundant in our world, but I’d never seen a talking beast. Let alone one that spoke so eloquently.
I stepped inside the cabin after him, and the moment the door shut behind me, the air shifted.
Warmth draped over my limbs, thick with the scent of smoke, dried herbs, and rich incense.
The walls flickered with firelight. Shelves bowed under the weight of jars and dried roots.
Potions floated in the air, held by invisible threads.
A spoon stirred an iron pot without hands. Vials clicked closed on their own.
What the Hel was this place?
The hearth roared to life as the bear laid Jack down on a low wooden table near the flames.
The older female tossed aside her shawl and rolled up her sleeves, revealing arms inked in glowing runes that shimmered faintly beneath her papery skin. “Let’s see what damage those gods-cursed wolves have done.”
Wolves?
She waved her hand, and the room dimmed, a circle of glowing glyphs lighting beneath the table.
“Help me strip the tunic,” she said to the bear.
Bjarnalf used one claw to slice the remaining fabric away, and the blood-soaked cloth peeled back, revealing Jack’s ruined chest. The arrowhead was still embedded just below the collarbone, but now the skin surrounding it had darkened even more, black veins fanning outward like roots from a dying tree.
I gasped, hand flying to my mouth. “Oh, gods. What is happening to him?”
The older female clucked her tongue. “It’s as I feared. Volgrath. Nullifies magic,” she said grimly, confirming my fear that the arrow tip had been made of the same iron as the Drekhvaen Shackle.
Despite her frail-looking body, she moved fast around the room, pulling jars from shelves, corking and uncorking glass. “The arrowhead must be made from it. But it’s the Umbrawort with which it seems to be dusted that truly worries me.”
She leaned over Jack’s chest, eyes narrowing at the black-veined sprawl. “Nasty thing. Eats through a magic-wielder from within.”
I staggered back, the world tilting. “Is he…Will he… Gods, is he going to die?”
Her gaze flicked to mine, calm but fierce. “Not if I have anything to say about it. But we must act fast.”
“You’re a healer, then?”
“I am many things, Captain.”
I froze. “Wait…how do you know me? And how did you know we were coming?” I stepped between her and Jack, spine bristling. “Who are you?”
“We don’t have much time.”
I bared my teeth. “I’m not letting you touch him until you tell me who you are. And how you knew we were coming. How do I know you even plan to help him?”
She stilled. “My name is Helka. And as you can see”—she gestured to the stirring air, the glowing runes, the steaming vials—“I am no simple healer. Your prince is dying of a magical ailment only I can treat. So, we can waste time with introductions until you feel satisfied… or you can let me save him. Your choice, Sylvanna Isenwulf.”
I faltered. My name on her tongue struck something deep in my bones. She said it like someone who’d known me far longer than I could understand.
Jack’s head lolled to the side, lips turning a gray-blue.
The bear’s nostrils flared. “Your prince will die, little one. Let the mother of the Winter Wood do her work.”
I blinked, horror seizing my chest as I gaped at the person claiming to be the only one capable of helping Jack. “Mother of the Winter Wood? Gods… You’re a…galdrakona.”
“Yes, deary. A witch. A crone. Call me what you wish. Some say I was born of ash and root, an abomination birthed from the depths of the Dokkvíor ruins. But does any of that matter? He’s dying and you need my help. Either step aside or watch him take his last breath.”
My gaze fell to Jack’s face, on his bloodied chest, the dark veins wrapping around his neck and branching over his jaw.
Trusting a witch went against everything I believed in, but what other option did I have?
I couldn’t let Jack die. Not like this. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him as I took a step away and nodded to the crone. “Please, just save him.”
Helka didn’t waste a breath. She whispered something in a tongue I didn’t know, and the glyphs beneath Jack’s body flared.
The iron pot levitated toward her, herbs and crushed petals spiraling through the air like drifting ash.
A pestle ground roots to powder without her touching it.
A vial tipped itself into the cauldron with a hiss.
I gripped Jack’s hand as the witch worked. His fingers remained slack. “Your kind was banished from our lands centuries ago. Witchcraft is forbidden. It was said to have died off with the last of your kind. How is any of this possible?” I said, looking around the enchanted cabin.
She wrapped a hand around the arrow shaft, feeling the tender flesh around the wound. “I am the last of my kind, dear. The cruelty of the fae queens and kings of the Seven Kingdoms knows no bounds.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching her peel away the makeshift bandages I’d made to staunch the bleeding.
“Before I can draw out the poison, the arrow must come free; otherwise, his magic will remain stagnant, unable to heal the damage.” Her gaze lifted to mine, hands slick with his blood. “Hold his arms. Tight. This is going to hurt.”
“Wait,” I said, panic rising. “Once you pull it free, blood will gush out.”
“The longer that tip stays buried, the deeper the poison spreads.”