Chapter 7
Chapter seven
“Are you going to let me go, or do I need to force you out of my way?”
Thorne tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “How would you force me?”
Gisela hesitated.
A low laugh slipped from him. “I’d pay to see that.” He shifted his bag and stepped past her. “It won’t be necessary. I’m coming with you.”
She scoffed. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.” He didn’t look back, his stride lengthening. “You can complain the whole way. I’m still coming.”
She caught sight of the sword strapped to his back, a beautiful red gem glinting on its hilt. “What is it with you and following me everywhere lately?” She hurried to catch up as they approached the gate.
He reached for the lever before she could, his smirk catching the faint light of the moon. “Call it instinct.”
The gate groaned shut, the finality of the sound echoing in the open air. Before them, a field of dead, brown grass stretched toward the east where The Niva rose like a dark wall. Ancient oaks tangled with thick underbrush, narrow paths vanishing into shadows.
Farther still, Mount Kharos loomed in the distance, its jagged peak shrouded in mist. The field would offer little cover, but The Niva promised both concealment and challenge.
Her dress was a delicate, impractical mistake, clinging awkwardly as she surveyed the land.
“What’s the plan?” Thorne asked.
“We’re going to the Trials of Kharos.”
His head whipped her way. “So, you do know what it is?”
“No. But I read about it . . . sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I can’t say where I read it, but I know Mystics can awaken their powers there. That’s where we should go before they put guards at the mountain.”
“Awaken?”
Gisela hesitated, thinking of the faint, water damaged words from the book. “I think the trials are meant to push Mystics to their limits . . . and whatever’s buried comes out.”
Thorne looked at her curiously. “You’re saying we need to be tested?”
She nodded. “I believe so.”
Silence hung between them.
“You can turn back now if you want.” She put a hand on her hip and waved back toward the gates of Frosthaven.
Thorne kept walking. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Gisela caught herself smiling and a tiny bit of warmth ignited in her core.
“Have you even been outside of the village before?” Thorne asked.
“No. We never really needed to. Have you?”
“A few times. I went to Tevrin, the castle town, with my father as a boy.”
“There.” She pointed to the formidable mountain ahead. “Mount Kharos. That’s where the cave is. We’ll walk as far as we can through The Niva and camp for the rest of the night.”
Thorne nodded. He moved ahead, forcing her to keep pace.
They walked for hours. Doubt clawed at her, burrowing under her skin. What if she wasn’t strong enough? What if she died before she was able to help her people?
The Snowdrift Forest had always felt like home to Gisela, but The Niva was completely foreign, with its unfamiliar trees and sounds. A feeling settled deep in her chest. Homesickness.
Was she pathetic? She had been gone for mere hours and already longed for home, for comfort and certainty. But this is what the prophecy demanded. Willingness.
And she was willing. Fear and discomfort weren’t enough to make her turn back.
Oddly enough, the decay hadn’t reached this far into the forest. At least, not yet.
Thorne let out a breath and turned to her. “Let’s stop here for the night.”
They found a small clearing where the ground was flat, blanketed in a layer of moss and fallen leaves that crunched under their feet. Thorne unpacked his bag, unrolling a simple tent beneath the canopy of towering trees.
“Who’s sleeping in there?” she asked.
“We are,” he replied, not looking up.
“Together?”
He stilled, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Unless you’d like to sleep outside alone?”
She did not.
Thorne gathered dry twigs and leaves and arranged them into a small pile.
He struck a flint against a piece of steel, sending sparks flying.
It took a few tries, but a spark caught and he blew on it, coaxing the flame to life.
The fire grew steadily, spreading warmth around them.
His eyes reflected the fire as he fed it with larger sticks, a satisfied smirk growing as the flames danced higher. He looked mesmerized.
The sight stole her breath.
The question she had been wanting to ask bubbled to the surface. “Why did you come with me? Trying to avoid leaving with your father or a betrothal to Ruby?”
Thorne sat there, gaze fixed on the fire. “How do you know about—ahh, Noah.” He laughed. “Neither. I didn’t like who I’d be if I didn’t.” He hesitated before adding, “My mother will be safer without him there. And it’s not like he’ll miss me.”
She tilted her head at him, waiting for him to say something more.
Thorne wasn’t known for doing the right thing. Growing up, he was usually in the middle of all the trouble or at least on the sidelines orchestrating it. She didn’t recognize the boy, now a man, sitting beside her.
“You’ve always done the right thing. You don’t think I see you?” Thorne said. “I’ve always seen you. Healing villagers. Helping the farmers herd the sheep when they get out. Always the first to step in when someone needs it.”
She smiled faintly. His words made her body relax in a way it hadn’t all day. She was seen—not as a Mystic, not as the child he grew up with, but as the person she had worked to become.
“There were plenty of times you stepped in and defended kids I was cruel to.” A hint of remorse laced his words.
“I was that kid most of the time. How quickly you forget,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You were an ass.”
Thorne’s lips thinned, accepting her criticism.
“But that’s not who I want to be. I came with you because I needed to do something right for once.
Something that might actually help. And whether you like it or not .
. .” He turned his head toward her, the fire still dancing in his eyes. “You need me.”
She scoffed, glancing away. “Yeah, well, excuse me for being shocked at all of this. You haven’t exactly developed a reputation for being helpful.”
The light in Thorne’s eyes dimmed.
“It hasn’t even been a month since you sent Fynn to try to scare me,” she added.
Thorne chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t get scared. I wanted to see what you were capable of. And you delivered.”
Gisela’s eyes narrowed, her face flat and unamused.
“Look, I know I was never nice to you. I always felt the need to impress my father,” he admitted, his voice trailing off. “He’s not particularly impressed with kindness.”
Gisela’s brows knitted together at his confession.
“I thought cruelty was the way to get him to notice me.” He dragged in a breath. “I’m really not like—” The words died on his tongue. “Did you hear that?”
She paused, listening intently. A faint growl echoed from beyond the trees.
They stood.
Her hand instinctively gripped the hilt of her knife, while Thorne shifted to a defensive stance.
In the darkness, an animal emerged from the shadows. Its movements were slow, deliberate . . . malicious. Its eyes glowed with a predatory gleam. The forest grew silent and still, not a leaf stirring.
“What the hell is that?” Gisela muttered.
What looked like a wolf was not a wolf at all.
The creature’s eyes were a swirling white haze.
Unfocused and wild. Its whole body quivered and its coat, grey with black-tipped fur, stood straight up, stretching its skin taut over protruding bones.
Every breath it took was labored, rattling in its chest.
With a guttural snarl, it sprang forward.
Gisela ducked and attempted to roll but the beast’s claw cut her side, slicing through flesh. A scream tore from her throat. The pain of the wound was searing, burning her from the inside out.
The creature hovered over her, its vicious mouth snarling and dripping saliva all over her face.
“Gisela!” Thorne shouted. He barreled into the creature’s side, distracting it enough for her to scramble out from under it. Thorne grappled with the beast, desperately trying to avoid its snapping jaws and raking claws.
Pain blurred her vision, but firelight caught on something metal near the tent’s entrance. Thorne’s sword.
She seized it and, with a fierce cry, plunged it between the creature’s shoulder blades. The blade’s tip protruded through its chest. The squelching sound of pierced flesh made her stomach lurch.
The beast collapsed.
She ripped the sword free and let it fall as she dropped to her knees.
Thorne sat up abruptly, his eyes wide with fear and maybe reluctant admiration. “By the Six,” he whispered. Thorne got to his feet and walked over to the creature, nudging its lifeless head with the tip of his boot. “It’s definitely dead,” he said, glancing back to Gisela.
She gave a faint nod, still too shaken to speak.
He extended his hand to her, and she hesitated before taking it. With a gentle pull, he brought her to her feet and drew her in, one arm steady at her back. They stood together, their chests rising and falling from the shock of the encounter.
“Impressive,” he whispered in her ear.
His tone brought her back to her senses, and she pulled away.
“That was no wolf,” Gisela said.
“No, that was something else. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’ve never left the village, so I don’t know if that’s normal out here—” she rambled.
“That was not normal, Freckles. I can tell you that much.”
She glared at him. “I just saved your life and you’re back to calling me Freckles already?” She walked back to the log to sit down.
“To be fair, I saved yours first.” He smiled, sitting down next to her. “That creature looked possessed. Like the deer I saw in the woods that day.”
The adrenaline left Gisela’s body and the pain in her side intensified. She hissed, looking down at the blood pooling under her dress.
“Let me see that,” Thorne said, reaching for her dress. “May I?”
“No, I can take care of it,” she replied. She turned away, lifting her dress over the wound. She winced at the sight. Three long claw marks ran across her abdomen. It wasn’t fatal, but it needed to be tended to immediately.
Thorne had already grabbed Gisela’s bag for her, knowing she would have brought supplies for this.
She pulled out a jar of silver sap, scooped up a generous amount and applied it to the gashes to prevent infection. Rummaging through her bag, she found her jar of hylja putty. Suspicion etched across her face. “You don’t think . . . maybe?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Thorne replied with a shrug.
Gisela dipped her fingers into the jar and pressed a small bit of putty lightly over the wound. They watched in silence as it warmed under her skin. For a while, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the skin knitted itself together.
“No way,” Thorne said.
Gisela let out a small laugh, continuing to spread it across all three gashes. The pain was easing, the wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, and three light pink scars formed. “Incredible,” she said. “It’s like the tree is helping us somehow.”
They sat in a comfortable silence, the night’s events replaying in her mind.
The strange creature, the hylja’s healing properties, and the mysterious Guardian Tree were woven together into a pattern.
The removal of the Stones had triggered a series of strange occurrences.
Their absence stirred something ancient and powerful, suggesting their purpose extended beyond simply sustaining the villages.
“We have to eat,” Thorne said, breaking the silence. He retrieved one of the dead squirrels he’d caught earlier in the night with his bow and arrow and placed it over the flames to cook. The scent of smoke and roasting meat curled into the night sky.
As Gisela watched him work, the gap between them was obvious—she didn’t know how to do any of this. Her decision to venture out alone was a reckless gamble.
Reckless . . . or stubborn.
The night’s dangers made her shortcomings painfully clear. She’d never pitched a tent or learned how to hunt. Without Thorne, she wouldn’t have made it through the first night. The thought made her question her own judgment. Inadequacy stung. And maybe a touch of embarrassment.
“Thorne,” she said.
He turned to look at her.
“Will you teach me?”
“Teach you what?” he asked.
“Everything.”