Chapter 8 #2
“Are you ready now?” Camilla stirs the fogroot concoction in a mortar and approaches Tucker and I. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”
See? I never had a choice in the matter.
I roll my eyes, tear my shirt over my head, and hang it on a tree branch.
The first dip of my toes in the water stings, the gentle stream nipping at my ankles like rusted barbed wire.
Like taking a swim in the ocean, it’s best to just dive in instead of drawing it out.
I drop down to my knees and then settle on my ass with my legs crossed over each other.
The water is only about six inches deep, but given enough fogroot, it’s almost certainly enough to drown.
There’s a splash of water to my side as Tucker steps into the water, taking a seat in front of me.
My throat clenches. “I thought she was doing this.”
“I’ve been training him,” Camila says with a smile fit for a doting mother, but she is most certainly not Tucker’s mother. “My time to depart this body is fast approaching and unfortunately, my children have not proven competent in matters of the spirits.”
“I saw Bash on the way in,” I say, just a little bit of small talk to get me through this nightmare.
She nods. “He’s a warrior.”
I meet her gaze out of the corner of my eyes. “And the other two?”
“Lazy.”
Three kids and apparently only one of them grew up meeting her lofty expectations.
Camila passes the mortar to Tucker, who takes it into his hands with a gentleness I’m certainly not accustomed to. It’s like he’s holding a fucking child, as if the stone mortar is fragile.
He stretches his arms out, offering the concoction for display. A deep brown with a shimmer of emerald green. More soupy than I remember. Hopefully it tastes better than my memory tells me it does, because three-to-one odds I’ll fucking throw up.
“Are you ready now? Tucker questions, eyes fixed on mine.
For him, the ritual has already started.
Meanwhile, I’m over here desperately plotting an escape, but the only way that’s happening is with a knife plunged into both of their skulls. Thankfully, the intrusive thoughts don’t win. Mostly because I don’t have a knife, but also because I’m trying to be a better person these days.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Can’t wait to feel your fingers probing the inside of my mind. Been looking forward to this jolly good time for years.”
He remains still, stoic.
I exhale and take the mortar into my hands. “Let’s just get this fucking over with.”
I close my eyes and tilt my head back, emptying the soupy mixture into my mouth. Tastes like dirty dirt. It clings to the back of my throat, coarse and sticky. An intruder that doesn’t belong.
“Who are you?” Tucker asks with a seriousness reserved for an inquisition.
I smirk. “Forest Wilde.”
“Who are you?” he asks again, cracking into a grunt.
My vision goes blurry, and I swear I can feel it inside me, the fogroot taking hold and branching into a million different directions. “The son of the forest, the chosen one.”
“Why are you here?”
“Be-because…” I stammer, foggy-headed. My eyelids grow heavy and tension dissipates from my body. Hits harder, faster than I remembered. I try to shake my head, but it comes out more like a light sway, like I’m floating. “It called me here.”
“What is it?”
“It’s…” My mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. I dig my hands into the rocks at the bottom of the creek and clench my fists around them. “I remember…”
“Why did you come back?”
“Because of the letter.” My eyes shoot open and I’m alone in the creek.
Tucker is gone.
Camila is gone.
The birds are quiet, the arms of the trees don’t move because the breeze is gone. The water continues to flow. It’s the only thing I can hear. Water is the one thing that never cedes. Always moving. Always talking.
I release the rocks from my grasp and brush my fingers over the surface of the water that’s stained with memories, all of them floating away from me in slow motion until I’m stuck in a fixed memory.
“What do you see?” Tucker’s voice questions from the heavens above.
I drop my gaze to the memory, playing out like an old VHS tape in the water. “I see Zeva, Bash, Darius, and two other guys I can’t remember. We’re maybe eighteen years old.”
“Focus on their faces.”
I try to do as I’m told, but the faces are distorted and blurred. I scoop a handful of water into my palms and raise it to my face. “One of their names starts with a J. Josh, Jason, Jim, Jeremy, Jedidiah, Jed—”
“Jediah and Miles.”
“Yeah…” Their faces come into focus. Both of them wear the same deep-set green eyes. They’re brothers. “Them.”
“Why are they there?”
“We’re in one of the cabins. There’s a wolf’s head hung up on the wall above the fireplace. We’re gathered around a table, laughing. Zeva is scribbling something on a piece of paper but quickly brushes it underneath a pile of books.”
“Why?”
Tucker’s footsteps pound over the hardwood floor as he approaches the table. “Because you just came through the front door.”
“You’re all hiding something from me?”
I shake my head. “I can’t see what it is.”
“Try harder.”
I squint, trying to get a better look at the paper Zeva hid, but it doesn’t work. I grab another handful of water, angle my hand, and let it slowly crest over the side of my palm like a waterfall.
And there it is, the single sheet of paper on display. “The Wilds Know What You Did.”
“What does that mean, Forest?”
“It’s what’s written on the paper, scribbled over a drawing of a naked woman.”
“What happens next?”
The clouds overhead darken as day turns to night. A solitary coyote howls in the distance before he’s joined by a chorus of others, crying into the dark. Then, the snarl of a wolf.
The sound of violence erupts, piercing my eardrums.
Flesh is torn apart.
Howls deepen.
Snapping. Biting. Chewing.
“Tucker, wake me up!” I scream as the surrounding trees combust into a fiery blaze.
“Forest, focus. What happens next?”
“Wake me up!” I come to, eyes bolting open underwater as I claw at the surface. I throw my head back, gasping for air as water runs down my face.
Tucker latches onto the sides of my face. “What did you see?”
I search the vicinity as I fight to steady my breathing, as I fight to process what I’ve just learned. What I’ve just remembered. I look Tucker straight in the eye. “The Wilds know what you did. The Wilds are calling you home. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a threat. We’re all in danger.”
“What does the Wilds know?” His grip tightens. Any tighter and my head might explode. “Answer me!”
“Take me to Zeva now!”
I sprint through the forest, bare feet scratching over the rough surface. I’m an animal uncaged, the beast within awoken, and even Tucker can’t seem to keep up to me. I don’t know how far behind he is, only that he’s somewhere back there as he continues to call out for me to stop.
Tucker lunges at me, knocking us both to the muddy ground. He rolls on top of me and pins an arm over my head. “I think you might be right about something. You’re losing your fucking head.”
I punch him with my free hand, his nose cracking.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans out, “I’m going to fucking beat your ass.”
I roll onto my stomach, climb clumsily to my feet, and I’m off again. Running faster than my racing heart. Every minute that goes by feels like an hour passing on the ticking clock of absolution, like I’m running not for my life, but for the life of others.
I come to a stop near the monument, and while I notice all eyes are on me, I can’t be bothered by that right now. Tucker joins me at my side, panting. I look at him and I don’t even have to ask. He points to a house ahead, parked just beneath the edge of the clearing where the forest meets a field.
“Forest, wait…”
Come on, Tuck. Have I ever listened? He reluctantly gives chase as I sprint forward, pushing through a growing crowd of onlookers.
When I approach the door, I pound on it. No answer. Pound again. I grab the door handle and twist, pushing it open.
Zeva and a man are seated at a small, circular kitchen table with four chairs. Both remain relatively stoic while watching someone enter their home without permission.
There’s venom in her voice when she speaks, though, “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
I take a sharp inhale, catching my breath. Sweat drips down my face, a droplet breaking free and falling to the floor. “You’re in danger, Zeva.”
“And who the hell are you?” she asks. When I don’t respond, she gestures to Tucker. “Who is this man?”
“Your cousin,” Tucker says, breathless. “He’s having a bad reaction to the fogroot.”
“No.” I shake my head and approach the table, leaning over it. “Someone knows what we did.”
Her eyes dart straight to Tucker and then quickly back to me. She looks me dead in the eyes and frowns. “We didn’t do anything.”
I take a step back and point to my chest. “I got a letter. The Wilds are…” Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something peculiar.
Something that breaks my focus from Zeva—a pool of dark liquid oozing under the crack of a nearby door. I drag my feet to the door until my toes dip into the warm mess. I grab the doorknob and try to open it, but the door doesn’t budge.
“Forest, move,” Tucker whispers from behind.
He pushes me to the side, angles his shoulder against the door, and throws his weight against it.
The door barely budges, but when he does it again, there’s a loud thud as the door swings open, revealing the body of a teenage girl in an all-white dress that’s painted dark red in the center and brighter around the edges.
Blood.
Lots of it.
From behind me, Zeva begins to wail.
Another scream etched into my mind.
There’s a white piece of paper with the drawing of a tree. Scribbled over the art is a warning—one by one, the Wildes all fall down.