Chapter Fourteen
Isla
Ewan glares at me sitting near the fire with Raia. There’s a nervous edge to him without Rhylen and his crew of men. “Alright,” he says. “Time to become useful.”
I roll my eyes. Useful. “And just how would you like us to do that?” I ask, getting up from my spot. My back twinges at the movement, reminding me of the lashing that happened only a week ago.
“We need to forage. You’re familiar with what we need?”
“More than you, most likely.”
He snorts in response, shaking his head.
Ewan marches off towards a small path among the Rowan trees.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. The whispers tickle my skin from the trees.
They’re a calming presence as they guide me through the trees to the small herbs that have the medicinal properties perfect for salves.
Maisie and Raia walk behind me, while Ewan leads the way. His eyes are focusing hard on the underbrush and small bushes in the dense forest. “Is there anything you’re looking for specifically?” I call out to him. There’s a pull to help, to forage, to create.
Ewan rocks back onto his heels. “Not sure. This is Irric’s area of expertise, not mine,” he grunts.
“Something to help wounds, I’m sure? Fight infection, maybe speed healing up,” I probe. Ewan stops in his tracks and looks at me from the corner of his eyes.
“You sure you’re not a healer?”
My jaw tightens before I answer. There’s a surge of uneasiness, “I only helped.”
He nods in understanding and continues on his path, leaving the rest of us behind.
Raia, Maisie, and I walk shoulder to shoulder.
I need to figure out a way to get us away from them.
Maybe we could cross the border, start new lives.
But what about Oliver, a voice echoes in the back of my mind. Can I trust him?
Raia and Jasper seem to think he’s lying, that he’s no better than his family. My mind racks with a million different questions. It’s overwhelming. Could we move past his family murdering my papa? Whipping me to the brink of death? My heart cracks at the thoughts of my papa. Raia nudges me.
“Are you okay?” She whispers.
I turn my head, clenching my jaw for a moment. “We need to get out of here. Get away from them.”
“Isla,” she groans.
“No, listen to me,” I start.
“No,” she cuts me off. “You listen to me. We can trust them. I know we can. They’re apart of the rebellion.”
“They’re thieves,” I hiss.
“Give me two weeks,” she asks. “Two weeks. If they haven’t harmed us in two weeks, we stay. We help the rebellion. You listen to them. Keep an open mind.”
I muse over the two-week proposition. Two weeks would give me the time I needed to figure out if I could trust my heart over my ears regarding Oliver. I try to weigh my options, finally relenting to Raia’s request.
“Fine,” I tell her, ending the conversation.
Her shoulders relax a touch at my acceptance.
I walk away from her, losing myself to thoughts of the future, of Oliver, and what the devilish thief could possibly be doing right now.
The whispers pull me into a different direction, so I shut my eyes to focus on the call, the pull to where we need to go.
I can feel Ewan’s eyes on me as I stay in my place.
I wiggle my fingers, releasing the pent-up excitement that builds in my chest. The call to pick, mix, and create is too strong.
Maisie and Raia walk up to him. “What is she doing?” Maisie whispers to Raia.
“She always does this. Says she can smell where she needs to go or something,” Raia responds nonchalantly.
“Has she always been this way?” Ewan asks, curiously. He eyes me up and down, his gaze meeting mine when I eventually open my eyes again.
Raia lifts a shoulder half-heartedly.
“We should veer off this way. We’ll be more successful looking for marshmallow root, lemon balm, and yarrow. I’m fairly certain they grow in these parts.”
Curiosity grows in Ewan’s eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Books?”
Ewan grunts and motions for me to lead the way.
He follows behind me quietly, along with Raia and Maisie, letting me work.
The whispers that tickle my skin, reminding me of home.
A barrage of memories assault me one by one.
The swing of the sword, the sickening thud, the gentle smile, the feel of his hand on my face.
My heart stutters and threatens to collapse from the weight of despair.
I stop suddenly in my tracks. Grief stopping me from moving any further. Tears flood my face.
“What is it?” Ewan asks, slightly alarmed.
I shake my head. Raia grabs my hand and squeezes.
“Isla?”
“I can’t do it,” I whisper. Emotions clog my throat.
“It hurts too much.” It’s overwhelming. The grief steals my breath, threatening to bring me to my knees.
He’s gone. It’s a fact I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on.
From the floor of the jail cell to being ambushed by the rebel leaders, distractions were plentiful.
Until now. Until right this second, I’m stuck.
Unable to move past the weight on my heart.
“Oh, Isla.”
“I miss him, Raia.”
Raia nods. Her eyes welled with tears. She gives me a watery smile as I go through the motions of missing papa, our talks in the garden, and the way he always told me to trust the whispers from the woods and plants that caressed my skin.
“Who is he?” Ewan asks, confusion worn on his face. He walks up to us, standing side by side. “Surely, we’re not bemoaning the loss of the Captain. Believe me, he isn’t worth the trouble.”
Raia whips towards him, smacking him in the stomach.
He grunts, doubled over. Ignoring them, I follow the whispers deeper into the grove.
I’m not ready to explain the loss of papa.
Fates, I don’t think I can even say the words aloud.
I hear Raia explain to him what happened to Papa, but I don’t stick around.
I can’t. I see it all over again. His head rolling on the ground, his life-less eyes.
I see it haunting me, like I’m there all over again.
I hear the order over and over, the sound of metal hitting flesh.
The memories constantly bombard me. An endless attack that’s slowly suffocating.
Instead of sticking close to them, I move briskly away.
I lose myself in the forage, collecting plants near and dear to my heart.
“I miss you,” I whisper to the winds as they swirl around me.
“I always will.” I lift my hand to a tree, gently touching the bark.
Legend has it the souls of the bravest, fiercest elven warriors live on in the trees.
They’re the whispers I hear in the wind that guide me.
Now, he was with them. The kindest, gentlest of souls, but the fiercest protector.
I walk away from the tree, continuing on my path, filling my arms with the necessary ingredients for a potent salve for wounds.
Ewan never said anything else, allowing us to work in silence; his gaze constantly tracks me throughout the woods.
Time stands still as I allow the tears to fall while I pick the herbs.
Maisie and Raia follow along but give me space at the same time.
Suddenly, a shrill bird call goes off. It has Ewan perking up from beneath a wild patch of calendula.
He walks towards us, gently grabbing my arm. “It’s time to go,” he tells us gruffly.
Wiping the tears, I simply nod and follow along. A short walk back, Irric and Rhylen stand over Wyll. They grip his arm with a bloody cloth. Argus crosses his arms over his chest in disappointment behind them, aggravation hanging in the air.
“What happened?” Ewan storms towards his friends.
“Ach, got too slow,” Wyll complains. “The bastard distracted me.”
“I’m going to have to stitch him up,” Irric cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. “Successful trip?”
Ewan looks my way before answering. “Interestingly enough, it was. Isla.”
I walk over to them, handing the basket to Irric as Rhylen keeps his hands wrapped around Wyll’s arm. “If you need help stitching, I can do it. There’s a couple things I could brew for pain, fight off infection.”
“You’d do that?” Rhylen looks at me. Suspicion lines his gaze.
“Ach, don’t be sour Rhylen. Of course she’d do that. Handsome as me? Can’t go to waste.” Wyll’s smile widens as he looks at me.
The dark-haired thief looks between Wyll and me and rolls his eyes. “Have to work, right? Contribute to the band of thieves, isn’t that what you said?” I bat my eyelashes at Rhylen.
He narrows his gaze, but nods after a beat of silence.
“Don’t worry about me, everyone. Just fixin’ to walk the halls with the Fates, is all.” Wyll bemoans.
“No one is walking the hall with the Fates today, quit ya’ grouching.” Irric replies with an eye roll. He leads his brother over to his tent, forcing him to sit on a fallen log. Irric looks back in my direction. “Up for a little fun?”
For the first time in what feels like forever, a small smile appears on my face. This could be good. This will be good. “Sure,” I tell him and follow him into his tent.
“Count my bounty, boys. Let me know what we scored,” Wyll calls out to Rhylen across the camp.
“So, what all did you gather today?” Irric asks, looking through the small basket.
“Simple things,” I tell him. “Marshmallow root, calendula. I saw some lemongrass in a small clearing.”
Irric nods along, an impressed glaze over his face. “Isla, all of this? This is incredible. How do you know about these?”
I simply shrug, words not able to form. There’s still a knot of emotions stuck in my throat. The bittersweetness of it all. “It’s just something I grew up doing,” I tell Irric. “A little hobby is all.”
“A little hobby? The people you could help with this collection of plants alone.”
“I helped the healer in the village. Little things here or there. It eventually grew into a routine. The grove has a lot. What I couldn’t find, I grew. I’d trade for seeds on market days.”