Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Sorin
The ground beneath my boots is soggy, and when I take a step closer to the small lake, I hold my breath. Not because of the pungent smells, but because of what lies beneath. Just below the surface, barely visible in the inky dark water are two faces.
Two women, not three.
Shite.
Their dark hair spools around them in spider-like tendrils. Their ivory skin is smooth and their cheeks are rosy. I lean closer over the water's edge. Their lips are pouty and berry-stained red.
Let us out!
I stumble backward at the sudden voices, tripping over a half-buried rock in the moss. Alaric and Ruse are at my sides, but for the first time since I’ve known them, they cower. Whimpering away.
“Not a good fucking sign.” Shaking my hands to regain some feeling in them, I stand up and glance into the pool again. My heart slams against my ribs, doubt tightening around my spine when another caw from the crow, I’m certain it’s the same one, sounds again.
Just as it does, the women in the water snap open their eyes. Two sets of large, doe-like eyes the color of the very moss on which I’m standing stare back at me. Their lips curl into a smile and a tether pulls taut in my stomach.
I yank my hand back, demanding control over my own body, but that tether pulls tighter and tighter until my hand dips into the water.
As soon as my hand submerges, they don’t hesitate. Their pointed nails claw at my skin and when I try to break free, they dig in farther, piercing my skin.
“Ruse! Alaric!”
Growls sound behind me but before the wolves can approach, the women begin crawling out of the pool, limbs contouring in unnatural angles. The crack of their bones is sharp against the eerie quiet of the forest.
As the first emerges, my heart races as her long black hair shifts, turning white and silver. The second woman climbs out, her porcelain skin withering, creases and lines etching into her as she takes a full breath. Gone are the beauties under the water, and before me are the crones.
The Fates.
“Hmmm,” the first says, taking a step forward.
Ruse growls next to me, her haunches raised and teeth barred.
“I remember you.” The crone giggles, her voice and laugh sounding much too young and sweet to match her ancient, sunken face. “Don’t you remember, sister?”
The other cocks her head to the side, her face splitting into a wicked grin. “How could I forget,” she says. “But where is your little wife?”
The crones erupt into laughter, the sound of it clawing at my ears. I hardly have time to contemplate when and where Elora and I have met these women before they scurry toward me, their jagged nails reaching for my skin.
I take a step backward, putting as much distance between myself and them as I can. “I think you already know where she is.” Alaric brushes against my fingertips.
“It would appear you already know as well, Bastian.” My stomach rolls at the name.
“My name is not Bastian,” I say, a bit defeated. Shadows stretch across the forest as another day turns to night. “My name is Sorin Rudhek, I am?—”
“The king does not remember.” The fates laugh again, the high shrill piercing my ears. “So why are you here?” The crones take a step forward, their long, silvery hair covering their naked bodies.
“I need…”
They continue to approach, and when my back presses into a tree, my stomach drops. Alaric tries to angle himself between us but even he scampers away as the crones close in on me.
Inches from my face, they stop. Their cloudy eyes scan my face while their fingers prick at my cheeks. Inspecting every inch of me.
“I need to know how to break the bargain. How to bring Elora back to me.”
The first crone throws her head back and laughs and it takes everything in me not to cover my ears or run away.
“What makes you so sure such a bargain can be broken, King?” The second crone joins her sister in laughter and the doubt I felt earlier intensifies.
There is no saving her.
There is no bringing her back.
“She is lost, lost, lost,” the two chant in unison. There’s something melodic about their tone. Something familiar and frightening and yet the longer they sing, the more I can’t take my eyes off of them.
Ruse’s bark snaps me from my stupor, the puppies whining behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Rook and Skoll have hidden behind a tree, but Grey and Hati stand tall, their eyes darting between Ruse, Alaric, and the crones.
“Lost, lost, lost! Just as she was before!” The crones continue to chant when a tiny, yellow bird perches on a branch. The bird opens its beak, and despite the noise from the crones, its soft song drifts through the wind and the rain and all at once, I’m overcome with memories.
Elora and myself.
The shared dreams and visions.
The storm and a crown, a bargain, and a goldfinch .
“You called me Bastian before,” I say, squaring my shoulders and projecting my voice over their relentless chants and the rising rain. “What did you mean by it?”
The crones grow silent, their heads again whipping in my direction with unnatural speed.
“Let us show you, King,” the first crone says. Dread fills my veins as she reaches for my hand. “It will only take a moment.” Her nails dig into my forearm but I rip it away, leaving lines of red across my flesh.
“Nothing is ever free,” I say. “Name your price for helping me first.”
The crones curse under their breath, whispering nonsense to each other. The goldfinch behind them sings again, bringing forth another muted vision in my mind of Elora and I, hands clasped tight. A jolt of pain shoots through my palm. I glance down at my hands, both unmarred.
“How far are you willing to go, to find what’s been lost?”
I wipe my hands on my breeches, attempting to erase the phantom sting. “As far as it takes and then some.”
The crones glance at each other again.
“We will help you find Soleil, if you can help us find something in return.”
Sighing, I run my hand down my face. “Her name is Elora, not Soleil. You must be mistaken, Soleil was the founding queen, I’m not sure?—”
“We know of what we speak, King Bastian .” The crones smile, their pointed black teeth making my hands shake. “But it seems as though you don’t.” They begin to chant again, swaying together, voices shrill and carrying through the forest.
“Take our hands, Bastian.” They reach out to me, still swaying and chanting under thick, black clouds that have rolled in.
Alaric barks, his teeth sinking into my tunic. Begging me to stay.
“I have to get her back.” I pet his nose and with a labored breath, I grab the crone's hands.
The world goes dark around me, the wind biting my ears and cheeks, but through the mirth and fog, a forest comes into view and I’m slipping away. Out of this body and into another.
I stand with Elora by my side, our hands clasped tightly together, the sting of our freshly cut wounds a distraction from the gale howling around us. I stare at her profile. At her strong nose and golden hair whipping wildly around her. She is so much the same and yet, there is something so different about her.
“Elor—” I open my mouth to speak but the words are muffled and faint.
“The deal is done.” One of the old crones steps forward. A wicked smile split across her weathered face. Though they look the same, there are three of them now. Their black fingernails and teeth are sharp and glinting under the moonlight.
Elora flinches at my side as leaves and debris swirl around them, creating a tunnel of earth and wind, obscuring my vision.
“Enchantresses shall bear a piece of Mother Gaia, their magick will preserve what you’ve built in Teravie. They will help bridge the gap between magick and non-magick, just as you’ve asked.”
What we’ve built?
A branch breaks from a tree, spiraling between us, breaking our hands apart.
“And in return?” Elora shouts, though her voice is nothing more than a whisper against the storm.
The three crones chuckle; their laughs amplified by a sudden gust. A strand of Elora’s hair pulls loose from her golden crown, blocking her eyes. She pushes the hair back, now soaked from the rain, and her eyes widen as the Fates begin to speak together.
“Your souls are bonded.” Their voices begin to fade as the wind increases. “You are bound to each other; you are bound to Teravie. And when Mother Gaia calls for aid, you will answer. You will follow. In any lifetime. For however long. Your souls belong to Her now.”
We both jump as a crack of lightning splits across the sky. Through the torrent of the storm, her hand finds mine. A flurry of yellow flashes between us.
A goldfinch.
She steadies herself before returning her attention to the Fates.
“The truth will reveal itself in time,” the crones mutter, their tattered black robes blowing in the wind.
I open my mouth to question them, but another forceful gust blows us both backward. We tumble to the muddy forest, separating as we do. The rain bites my skin and stings my eyes. I grapple for Elora’s hand but come up empty.
“Soleil!” I hear myself yell against the groaning trees and downpour, not entirely sure why that was the name that left my mouth and not Elora.
She screams back but it sounds so far away. I reach for her again but am too late before the light of the moon snuffs out behind a sheet of black clouds, sealing us in total darkness.
She screams my name over and over again as I did hers and when the wind finally dies and the stars begin to shine my throat is hoarse and dry.
Scrambling to my feet, I find her a few feet next to me.
She lies on a bed of earth, around her broken branches and leaves. Moss sticks to her hair and when she sits up, she stifles a cry.
She reaches under herself and gasps, using her free hand to cover her mouth as she brings forth from the ground four glowing stones.
I’m pulled from the memory like a fish from water. Gasping, I clutch my chest. My lungs, burning and begging for relief.
“Do you see now, King?” The crones circle around me. “You and Soleil have been brought back. She , Mother Gaia , has brought you back, to save Teravie. She has called in her bargain and you have one chance to make this right.”
My lungs burn. “It’s not possible.”
“Isn’t it?” They step closer, stealing the oxygen around me. “Tell us, King, have you no memory of your past life? Have no intuition of all the love you had before?” The crones sniff the air, their heads tilted back. “Deep down, Bastian. You already believe it.”
My breathing is shallow as I take in their words. As I recall each and every moment with Elora before this.
Have we met before? Some of my first words to her on the bank of the Galdosa River. I was sure even then; she was no stranger to me. Her lightning touch, the way her body molds to mine. The instant connection and familiarity. The acute sense of home when she’s wrapped in my arms.
I fall to my knees. Visions of storms and forests and a goldfinch playing in my mind. Visions I thought of our future, now I realize, were actually our past.
“In order to save your wife,” the crones say, interrupting my racing thoughts, “she must remember who she really is. She must remember.”
I scramble backward before standing, straightening my shirt. “And what do you seek in return?”
“Like we said,” they say together, “we are also looking for something that has been lost.”
As I watch them, I notice more and more about them. The shape of their pointed teeth. The sallow color of their skin and hair long enough to reach their waists. I can see the beautiful women still lurking beneath, just as they lurked beneath the water.
There are only two of them and there must be three.
The cloud in my mind clears and everything makes so much sense. Why the Fates have been quiet, why there is one missing. Confidence squares my shoulders as I take a step toward the women.
“Grawgeth.” I spit the name out of my mouth like poison.
The crones freeze, their limbs tangled together, their clouded eyes blown wide.
“Grawgeth is…” I step forward again and the crones dart back. “Is your sister? The third Fate?”
Their eyes narrow, dark brows cinched together above milky white irises.
“Perhaps she is,” one of the crones says. “She has forgotten, like you.” Their eyes narrow as they turn to each other. “Like your wife.” They link their arms together. “Find our sister, return her to us by destroying the Wicked Wood, and your debt will be considered even.”
They turn to head back to the pool, their silver hair like wisps of a spider's web swaying in the wind. All the confidence I had moments ago fades as my chest tightens and breathing falters.
“How will I find her?”
They turn, and before I can blink, they’re inches from my face. I hold my breath, hoping the stench of decay is from the pool behind us and not from their mouths.
“It has been a long time since we have been united,” the first crone says. “That wicked wood she created has been a poisonous vat to the forest. And all out of spite.” The second nods, her mouth tilting upward. “Free your wife, destroy the wood, and Grawgeth will never be tied there again.”
“Tell me how to destroy the wood and I’ll do it.”
The crones smile, their pointed teeth dripping black. “You must give it something. Something to take with it.”
I open my mouth to beg for more clarity, but the crones hold up their hands. “Destroy the wood so our sister may never find her way back there.”
I nod, my lungs burning from the pent-up breath. “To break your queen from the curse of the Wicked Wood, Soleil must remember who she was.”
My fingers run through my hair, pulling slightly on the ends, frustrated at the time I’ve wasted here. “So that’s it? Just…tell her who she is?”
The crones laugh, but this time it’s not shrill like before. It’s low, rumbling like an oncoming storm.
“That isn’t what we said, King.” They shake their heads, their voices mulling together. “She must remember who she was, and she shall be set free, but the wood must be destroyed. Otherwise, it will pull her back, Bastian. It will pull and pull and take and take and your wife, and our sister, will never truly be free.” They turn for the pool again, their hands clasped together. “Destroy it.” They say over their shoulders.
“Grawgeth will return,” one whispers. “We’ll finally be whole.”
“I’ll never make it in time!” I shout to their backs.
They cackle again, loud enough to startle a murder of crows in a nearby tree. “Use the magick, Bastian.” Without a glance backward, they plunge into the pool and out of sight.
Sinking back to my knees, the bitter air fills my chest as I welcome it into my lungs.
Ruse and Alaric nudge my sides, the puppies running forth as well.
“We need to go.” I stand on unsteady legs, leaning on Alaric for support. “Back to the Wicked Wood, I’m afraid.”
Alaric whines and it’s enough to make me smile.
“The feeling is mutual.”
I lock eyes with Ruse, she dips her head and soon the puppies fall in line behind us.
As we make our way toward Amis, a faint burning hits my chest. Reaching inside my shirt, my fingers lock around the smooth amulet. The purple stone shines in the fading light and as I’m about to tuck it back into my shirt I’m hit with a thought.
Use the magick.
I stop, letting the wolves proceed ahead without me. Taking a long breath, I glance to the wolves and to Amis. To the forest and the trees and the moon fighting its way through the dark sheet of clouds.
“Get to the Onyx Guild.” Alaric and Ruse look at me, and as I bring the stone to my lips, Ruse rushes forward. “Don’t stop until you’re there.”
I close my eyes and picture everything I can remember about the Wicked Wood, reaching out for the magick I know is trapped inside. Something in here must be able to help me. Get me to the Wicked Wood?—
On the next breath, I’m somersaulting through the air. Darkness encompasses me, my head spins so fast I think I might throw up. Or at the very least scream, but there isn’t any time before I’m crashing to the ground.
Sitting up, I rub at my eyes then the stiffness in my joints. The sky has darkened, but it’s not much later given the moon’s position. My arm jolts forward as something nudges me.
Not something.
Someone.
Ruse.
“What are you doing here!” I scurry to my feet as the massive wolf snarls. “So, you come all this way and you still give me that face?”
Shaking my head, I touch the amulet again. The burning has stopped, but the power trapped inside makes my entire body buzz. I tuck it in my shirt. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
I roll my eyes, and Ruse follows. She must have jumped with me at the last minute. After a few tense steps, my stomach drops.
The Wicked Wood are exactly as they were the last time I saw them. Dark and terrifying. Empty yet overflowing. Full of lost souls trapped in the trees. Full of broken dreams and hope long lost. Ruse keeps close to my sides as we take a step in.
Then another.
And another.
“Just like last time,” I whisper to myself. Perhaps to Ruse. “We’ll get out, just like we did before. Right, Ruse?”
Her gaze is fixated on the trees before us. The darkness shifts, gray and purples swim together and at the end of the tunnel a figure forms.
Grawgeth.
No.
Elora.
She moves closer, the moss at her feet parting with her every step. Her face contorts as she comes fully into view.
Do you see me, love?
Her skin is patched with moss and bark across her breasts and down her abdomen. She cocks her head to the side, the glow of her golden eyes now flat and dull.
Please, see me, love.
On a deep breath, I take a step forward. Vines and leaves and thorns stretch before me. Crawling, wrapping themselves around my ankles and up my legs, pinning me in place. The thorny vines draw droplets of blood from my legs and arms.
Elora closes the distance between us, her vacant eyes scour my face. Sharp nails run down my jaw, leaving burning scratches. “Why have you come to my Wood,” she hisses and her voice is not her own. It’s not one, but many. Just as Grawgeth’s had been. An orchestra of all the souls trapped here.
“I’ve come for you, love.”
She grips my jaw tighter, her nails digging into my skin.
“If you seek passage, my price is not cheap.” My jaw stings but I ignore it, looking into her eyes, searching for some piece of her left.
She must remember who she is.
“I don’t seek passage,” I say. “I’ve come for you, Elora.”
She flinches, scurrying backward. “I do not know that name.” She raises her chin, moss and vines curl at her feet. Slithering like serpents up and around her legs and arms.
I step forward, and as I do Ruse growls, low and deep. Elora’s gaze snaps to the wolf. Her eyes widen before they narrow.
She recognizes her.
“Again, Ruse.” I take another step and Ruse growls.
The forest revolts with every step I take. Roots erupt from the earth, blocking my path to her. More thorny vines sprout, catching on my pants and arms. Ruse begins to howl, long and slow and Elora bares her teeth.
“Elora, your name is Elora.”
“Stop it!” Her teeth are still barred and it only makes Ruse howl louder. “Stop it!”
With her distracted by the howling, I’ve managed to weave around the forest floor and am inches from her. Her arms hang at her sides, her fists clenched, but there on her left hand, my father’s ring.
I reach for her hand, but as I do, vines and roots crawl up my arms again, tightening around my muscles, making my hand stiffen.
“I require payment for passage through.” Her gray eyes are narrow under her dark brows but I swear I see a glimmer of gold in them. Ruse continues to howl, and Elora shakes her head. “Payment or I end your life, now!”
She releases my hand, an ache already forming from the pressure around my wrists. When I make no other movement, she throws her hands together in a thunderous clap. Sharp branches burst from her shoulders, across her chest and down her arms. Vines and roots and thorns crawl over her legs, and when she holds her hand out to me, the threat is clear.
Payment or death.
Payment…payment. I pat my pockets and the weight of the amulet presses against my leg. Quickly I pull it out and dangle it between us. Her eyes flare as she watches it spin lightly from the gold chain it's attached to. Ruse stops howling and the creaking and moaning of the trees takes its place.
“Where did you get…” She steps forward. The spikes and thorns melt away, the moss and vines at her feet retreat back into the ground and soon she is bare before me save for the bark around her chest. She doesn’t break her gaze from the amulet, its purple light pulsing in the darkness.
“Enchantress magick, Soleil.” She hisses at the name, recoiling back from me. I shiver against the dropping temperatures as I inch closer but I focus on her eyes. On the faint flicker of gold I see in them. She reaches for the amulet, completely transfixed by it, and when she presses it to her fingers, I use her distraction to test my theory.
I press my mouth to hers, hard. She leaps backward, but I wrap my arms around her to hold her in place. She wiggles and growls before biting down on my lip so hard blood pools in my mouth. Her nails slice against my skin as I break away, leaving enough distance between us for the roots to erupt from the ground and encase her, protecting her.
I want to reach for her again. Want to brave the claws and the thorns and vines just to have one more taste of her lips.
But I don’t.
Instead, I close my eyes and focus on every memory I have of her. Not just of this life, but our life before.
Please remember me.
Remember, you.