Wulf
Half an hour has passed since we left another one of Ayna's many shrines on foot. We are well on the way to Ida's cottage south of Isenmere, yet Verena is still cursing about Malivant.
I know some of the vulgar words she uses. Others are admirably creative. Many more must come from her world, unfamiliar to me but steeped with vitriol.
"That lying, feather-brained, motherfucking weasel-dicked scruffy-looking nerf herder," she rants, blowing a strand of dark red hair out of her face.
When it only falls in her way again, Verena pauses on this thin path through misty green fields to unweave the rest of her hair from its braid. Tossing the freed dark scarlet over one shoulder, she marches on with renewed irritation, the skirt of her green dress swishing.
My attention fixes on the hypnotic sway of her hips as she covers ground with haste.
The Thirteenth Faerie called her wrath striking and refined.
To me, it is endearing.
I like knowing we are alike in this way, with slow but fierce tempers.
Yet I would not dare interrupt Verena's ire. Eris has already been unlucky enough to fall under her indignation.
"I did advise you not to trust that faerie," he reminds her from the reflection of my axe blade as I easily catch up to her. "And I did try to tell you how I've started to feel for—"
"As if I'm mad about whatever feelings you think you're having," she cuts in with a scowl.
"No, I'm mad because you had the gall to be relieved that asshat couldn't send me home.
If you actually gave two shits about me, you wouldn't want me trapped in a world that's slowly shattering my soul, according to that creepy mirror. "
The lost soul is quiet for a second. "Again, we don't know if that's the true meaning of your broken reflection.
This world may be as safe for you as your own.
Perhaps even safer, if your nightmares are any indication.
Even Malivant noticed you suffered something in the past, wherever you came from. "
Verena whips around to give his reflection a scathing glare.
"Don't say that name around me."
"Why not tell us what haunts you?" he presses.
"Sorry, only my true pals get to hear my sob story—but you were right. We're not pals, so I have no reason to tell you anything anymore."
He tries to protest, but she walks on, still swearing.
Once she is too far to hear us, I lift the axe to glance at the shiny surface Eris inhabits.
"Anger controls her tongue. Let it abate before reasoning with her."
He puffs out air, but nods. "I can more easily withstand Verena's anger than her silence. At least she's not ignoring me again."
"And at least she remains in this world," I say, tracking her progress ahead through the thick mists plaguing this stretch of land near the Loomdark.
"Do me a favor and say that to her. It may redirect some of her fury over to you so I can ask her yet again what gives her the nightmares."
I snort and replace the axe, striding after Verena.
He sighs. "I'll take your silence as a no."
"I am still groveling my way into her good graces. Weasel your own way out of her wrath."
"And here I thought we were becoming friends," Eris grumbles.
Again, I catch up to Verena. I am debating how to ask her more about her otherworldly past when my gaze locks onto the dark treeline of the Loomdark, emerging through the distant mist.
I halt, gently grasping Verena's arm so she will stop, too.
What witchery is this?
"Wulf? What's—" She looks at where I'm frowning and squints hard. "Damn, those are some massive trees. They really put the loom in Loomdark. I guess Ida's house has to be close, huh?"
I scan the murky horizon. Sometimes this dark, twisted wood puts forth strange mists that toy with the eye and warp the mind.
But when the image stays the same for several moments, I frown.
"The forest has grown."
"I hear trees do that," Verena jokes.
Her jovial tone toward me is a relief. It's a sign that though she may be irritated with Eris and outright loathe that faerie, I am slowly becoming someone she relies on. Someone she can be comfortable with.
That thought is immensely satisfying, but now is not the time to relish it.
"The forest itself spreads from time to time," I clarify. "It is said the Loomdark runs rampant with an ancient, mysterious magic which hungers for more land. Ida's house is still several furlongs away. It must now be engulfed by the trees."
The beautiful redheaded woman stares at me for a second before groaning.
"Oh, fuck. You're saying we'll have to actually go inside the Forbidden Forest."
"The Loomdark is dangerous, but it is not forbidden."
She mutters about missing something in her world before pulling her shoulders back. "Let's just go in far enough to get to Ida's house. These might be famous last words, but how bad could it be?"
Eris rubs his face as if exhausted. "For one so witful, your sense of self-preservation is staggeringly bad. In my opinion, you ought to return to Isenmere and simply work with the fabrics available there."
"No, I ought to cover up every mirror and reflective surface I see so I don't have to hear your opinions—which, by the way, I don't remember asking for."
"We both know you're far too vain to actually do that."
She gestures at herself theatrically. "And again I ask, can you blame me?"
Eris is serious. "How could I, when I myself am so addicted to the sight of you?"
What I lack heavily in verbal eloquence, this lost soul clearly has in spades.
Verena is flustered briefly before looking at me. "Any chance you can leave the axe behind? I want to stay mad, but he's being all poetic and apparently, I'm metaphorically ovulating."
I resist a smile. "The axe may be necessary against the evils we're bound to face."
"And on that cheery note, let's go."
We leave the mist-shrouded hills and step into the quiet embrace of the Loomdark. I carry the scars to prove I have been here many times to hunt various monsters, yet the chill of this unholy, enormous wood feels fresh each time I return.
Vast trunks rise around us, their roots curling across the ground like gnarled serpents.
The dense, twisted trees branch high above, knitting themselves into a canopy so thick that the cloudy daylight can only fall in bruised ribbons upon the forest floor.
Leaves rustle without wind to stir them, the thick scents of damp earth and moss stagnating in the chilled air.
I am on edge already, far too aware of the dangers that lurk here. It only worsens when I realize Verena's soul scent is no longer right beside me.
I turn quickly around to see that she has not followed me for several paces.
"Verena?" Eris prompts, concerned.
If she heard him, she shows no signs of it. She stands hugging herself on the path, eyes trailing curiously over the trees. Her head tips, brow furrowing.
"I will protect you," I reassure her.
Verena's dark blue gaze finds me. She shakes herself to escape a thought.
"I know. It's just—I expected these woods to remind me of a memory I'd rather forget. Instead, I feel kind of…safe, right now. And believe me, I do not throw that word around lightly," she adds.
"Safe? In the Loomdark?" Eris sputters.
Eldrunia spare me—Eris is right. Her survival instincts must be horrifically askew.
"Perhaps I should carry you so you are not led astray by a wight," I mutter, frowning at the darkness around us as we travel onward.
"Carry me? Either you don't get what metaphorically ovulating means, or you just love to tempt me," she sighs, poking one of my arms. "I promise not to wander off, so put those muscles away, mister. I'm only human."
How strange that Verena thinks I tempt her on purpose, when she is a walking sin I would give anything to commit.
Perhaps when we return to Isenmere, I should do as Eris suggested. The idea of using my blood to tempt my vantaei seems underhanded, yet I am at my wit's end.
I will find some way to show this woman what we could mean to one another if she stays in this world.
What she already means to me, as shown in that mirror in the green-door room.
We walk for some time in silence. My eyes continually scan our surroundings for signs of danger. We pass several unmarked graves so overgrown by the Loomdark that I doubt Verena sees them.
Once, I look behind and see eyes glowing in the shadowed distance, watching us. I tense, preparing to defend Verena against the creature's attack—but its large, monstrous silhouette turns and lumbers the other way.
I frown at the bizarre happening, turning forward again.
Meanwhile, Verena's nerves appear the opposite of mine. She hums a slow, sweet, melancholy tune to herself as she steps over another thick root.
"Is this yet another song from your world about mirrors?" Eris prompts. "Who is it this time, Michael or the Lake of Timbers?"
"Timberlake," she corrects. "And no. Actually, I'm not sure where I heard this. The melody just randomly gets stuck in my head now and then. You wouldn't believe the amount of times I've tried to Shazam it."
"Shazam?"
"That one takes some explaining, and I'd rather not because you and I aren't friends right now."
Eris is exasperated once more and starts to reply, but cuts off when a distant scream reaches our ears.
Verena whirls, appearing ready to leap into danger herself. "That's a girl screaming. Come on, let's—"
"Screams in this forest are often the call of monsters luring their prey," I warn quietly.
The scream fades as abruptly as it began. I unsheath my knife, prepared to slaughter whatever I can feel watching us, yet nothing happens.
We travel on until we near a small bridge crossing a babbling brook. Though it is surrounded by thick woods now, I recognize it as having been quite near Ida's cottage.
Gently, I place a hand on Verena's waist to keep her from taking another step forward. Lifting my chin, I sample the air deeply.
Nixie souls carry a strong sulfur scent, yet I find no traces of it here.
Strange. I have never come across water in this forest without nixies plaguing it.