Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I let out a yelp of surprise and drop the torch before the fire can reach my hand and singe my flesh. Like balls of yarn let loose, viny tendrils unfurl from my hip at the same time as the flame's explosion. The foliage weaves together, forming a torso, two legs, and two arms. There is a head of tightly woven stems, two massive leaves for ears. A halo of marigolds like hair sprouts all around the green head.

The wood of my makeshift torch is instantly turned to ash. But the shard of brick is enveloped in a hovering orb of flame. Instead of legs, the fire flickers down to a point. Two tongues of flame become arms. Then, a head, with two glowing, golden eyes.

"Mary? Folost?" I stammer, looking between the two.

"Just so, Faelyn." Folost raises a fiery arm to his torso, where the brick is—where a heart would otherwise be.

"What in the—" Bardulf leaps to action, as if wanting to protect Aurora and myself.

"They're harmless," Aurora says dully. "Calm yourself."

I give Aurora a thankful look and turn back to my spirit friends. "You both can speak?"

"In this world where magic is still strong, we can…to those who are capable of understanding. Our powers were diminished with time in the Natural World," Mary says. Where Folost's voice crackles like the roar of a fire, Mary's is sweet and light, like the buzz of pollinators drifting on meadow breezes.

"We need to carry on," Bardulf gruffly reminds us. I shoot him a glare that hits about as well as a sharpened stick against plate armor.

"Bardulf, my simple-minded friend." Evander tsks with a shake of his head.

"How dare you," Bardulf snarls.

"Can you not see the benefit we bring to Conri?" Evander motions to me.

"I see Aurora's power split and half of it is in a thing that thinks and walks rather than a ring to be worn." Bardulf begins to pace again. He is more shark than wolf, circling in the waters around us.

"Conri has not only the moon spirit, and her power, but the power of a weaver witch with spirits in tow." Evander gestures as though this should have been an obvious assumption.

These men are in competition for which I hate more, being called a "thing," or having my abilities coveted as though they are something to be possessed and used. But I keep my discomfort concealed. After all, Evander seems to have Bardulf no longer circling. And Evander's plans of offering my skills to Conri is something to worry over in the future.

"Folost, Mary, now that you've been successfully returned to Midscape, you should go and commune with the old gods to fully restore your strength," Aurora says gently. "There are precious little of us left."

I'm completely pulled from worrying about the men, and I focus back between the woman and my bonded spirits—my friends. I knew that, under no circumstances, would I ever leave them behind. But the idea that they might leave me never once crossed my mind and I suddenly feel so selfish for it.

"Do you need to regain your strength? Are you both unwell?" It's a silly question, given what I just saw. If they had been well, then they wouldn't have been relegated to such weakened forms for decades. Was this somehow my fault? Did I keep them at my side well past when I should have set them free? "I hadn't known that you were suffering… I am so sorry."

"You need not apologize," Folost says warmly.

Mary lifts a pointed arm and a small vine unfurls, a marigold at its end, that wraps around my wrist. "Fear not; we shall not abandon you, Faelyn."

"I…" I can't say it wasn't a fear of mine. They know me too well. Have seen every moment of my life where someone I love left. Be it my mother going into the woods and never returning. The boy I loved abandoning me with nothing but a broken heart to remember him by. Or clutching my grandmother's hand every hour until the magic uncoiled from her body. But I must be strong for my friends now. It doesn't matter what happened to me in the past, I won't hold them back. "I know you wouldn't abandon me. But looking after yourself and your well-being isn't abandoning. I love you both, and want you both well, foremost."

"You don't have to tell us. We know. You never failed to ensure Folost had enough charcoal, or that my soil was properly watered." The vines shift into what I think is a smile. "You might not see us often in these forms, here, as they take great effort for us to maintain. But we will be with you. You know how to call upon us, whenever you need."

A vine reaches out to the ground, selecting a small shard of clay from the pot that shattered at my hip. Mary lifts it, holding it before me. I accept the token with both hands. Grandma's thumbprint dents its surface. Folost does a similar motion, passing the shard of brick from within him into my hands. It's burning hot, but only for a fleeting moment. Somehow, I don't seem to really feel the singe at all.

"We are honored to be bound to a witch such as you. Never hesitate to call upon us whenever you need." With those last words, Folost's flames wrap in on himself and sputter out of existence with a puff of smoke.

Mary's vines return to the earth, withering and becoming soil for the worms to feed on right before my eyes. She leaves behind a trail of marigold petals that catch a breeze that smells of woodsmoke. Of home.

As the wind picks up…they're gone.

My hands are still before me, clutching the tokens that are the last remaining tethers I have to my friends. I had thought that I would keep them with me, always—keep them safe. When, really, I was taking them home. They might still be bound to me, but they are not slaves. They are free to go and, honestly, I wish it for them. Even if it makes my heart ache and eyes sting at the mere idea of all I've lost and let go of in such a short period of time—enough to make the cold that's wrapped over my shoulders heavier than my ruby cape sink deeper into my marrow—I love my spirit friends enough to want to see them well. With me, or without.

Aurora's eyes are glassy also as she stares at the spots where the two spirits were. I wonder what is going through her mind. From all I've heard, I can only imagine that she, too, is yearning for freedom. For the ability to wander as far as she pleases. For a form that will enable her to return to the origins of her essence. But unlike Folost and Mary, Aurora is trapped in her mortal body. She is hunted by the wolf king.

"This way," Evander says, matter-of-fact, starting down a beaten path between two rolling hills. Completely oblivious that I just lost two of my dearest friends.

Bardulf lingers, arms folded, staring me down. Somehow, even at half of Evander's weight, he manages to be more imposing.

"We should rest here," Aurora calls after Evander, ignoring the obvious and unspoken command from Bardulf to move.

"No. We'll rest at camp." Evander doesn't even look back before responding. He's already halfway down the hill.

"Evander, she needs rest now."

Evander pauses, looking back to me. His silvery eyes are as cold as the sliver of moon above. "Is this true? Do you need us to go easier on you, human?"

"I can persist just fine." I am amazed my words are even as I fight chattering teeth. The night is colder in Midscape, I think. Vaguely, a part of my mind wonders what else is different in this world. But I can't summon the energy to be as enthusiastic about discovering such things as I know I should be.

"Good. We should get across the narrow strait while Gruvun still waits." Evander continues forward.

Aurora gives me a worried look but I offer a nod of assurance. She begrudgingly follows behind Evander, in front of me. Bardulf continues to loom over my shoulder. I make it a point to slowly place my friend's tokens in my pocket before starting onward.

The hills slope into a coastline of pale sand. Little more than a strip of white, shining in the moonlight against a calm strait of water the same color as the night sky. I have never seen the sea before, though I have heard its stories from the traders that used to come through town, hawking goods from all the way to the west. The stories were enough to make me regard this body of water with some apprehension. Especially when Evander climbs into a small rowboat that has been beached upon the shore, frothy waves lapping around its far-too-thin-looking hull.

Aurora is next. I force myself over the side. Then Bardulf. The moon spirit and I sit in the middle, with Evander at the bow and Bardulf at the stern.

"Gruvun, take us back," Evander says to the ocean. The tide sweeps in, but only around our little vessel, lifting us and carrying us into the open water.

Immediately, I sense a surge of magic with the tides. I've never seen someone other than a witch summon a spirit. But the lykin have their own ways of channeling magic.

We are practically untouched by the waves, speeding across the dark sea with ease. I glance over the side of the vessel; there's nothing but ripples and sea foam. It's astounding that Aurora made this journey alone…and in the state she was in. No wonder she collapsed from exhaustion shortly after we met.

"Gruvun, were you able to deliver my message?" Aurora asks the water on the opposite side of the rowboat.

"I was," the water laps against the hull in reply. Nothing fundamentally changed about the movement of the boat, but somehow the waves sound different. The urge to stand and peer over is nearly overwhelming, but I refrain. I do not want to be cast overboard. "She is ready to receive you."

"And she thinks she will have the power to fix me?"

"She has taken her form. It will not be an issue… She is more mobile than the last, but she will not be able to come to you. She is still entrapped."

Aurora shifts, staring at her joined hands between her knees. Entrapped. That one word seems to haunt her.

"‘She' is the old god you wished to see?" I ask, hoping that Evander and Bardulf can't understand me. Evander's eyes flick my way, but then he turns back to the distant shore. I can't tell if it was a look of comprehension or not. Since Aurora doesn't correct me, I assume I've done well enough to speak in the language of spirits.

"Goddess, yes." Aurora continues to stare into the damp hull of the boat. "There have been some…complications surrounding her…"

"But she is still your best chance?"

Aurora nods.

"Then we will continue our quest." My voice drops to a whisper, even though it's clear Evander and Bardulf can't really understand me.

Aurora lifts her chin and looks to me. Her lips curve into a smile, the thin lines around her eyes and mouth revealing the edge of the weariness she works so hard to keep hidden. It is an expression of resignation. But still having just enough hope that she doesn't refuse me outright.

"Who is this?" Gruvun asks. A wave crests a little higher on my side of the boat. I swear I see foamy eyes that make my heart both light and as heavy as lead simultaneously.

"I'm Faelyn," I introduce myself.

"A weaver witch? In these parts? How odd."

"A friend," Aurora corrects.

I share a smile with her.

"Look after her, ‘friend.'" Gruvun has the last word, as the distant shore has neared.

A flickering light that was little more than a speck on the horizon has transformed into a bonfire. The land is flat, almost completely level with the sea. Defiant blades of grass poke through the thin strip of sand, almost at the water's edge. The boat crunches up against the sand of the bone-white shore.

Evander and Bardulf jump from the vessel. Aurora follows much more slowly, and with significantly more grace. I move as well, my hands quivering as I grip the wood and pull myself over slowly. Pins tingle down my legs from the awkward way I was sitting and the blistering wind as we sped across the sea.

"Thank you, Gruvun," I say to the small waves that lap against the shore, well behind where the boat was deposited.

The water rushes up, farther than the last, to soak my feet. I can hardly feel the chill, even though the leather of my boots is thin. It is not a good sign.

There's a small camp erected in the sand around the bonfire. Three simple wedge tents are set up at cardinal points, each a fair distance from the other on the empty beach. On the side of each of the tents, three vertical bars have been painted in red. The symbol's meaning is one I do not know.

"She will share my tent," Aurora declares, much to my relief.

But Evander has other intentions. "She is with me."

"Excuse me?" I blink, startled.

"Come," he snaps, and starts off toward the tent, farthest to the right.

"I am not comfortable with this." I don't move, instead widening my stance as though I'm bracing myself.

Pivoting on his heel, Evander storms back in my direction and halts just short of our chests touching. This close, I can see every shade of silver in his mercury eyes. He fixes me with a penetrating glare—the look of a predator, as unyielding as his corded muscle. Yet, despite oozing intensity, there's an absence of malice around him. Oddly…I don't feel threatened. If anything, this all feels performative. Yet, I do not know who the performance is for.

"You will not be comfortable with much of anything if your wounds aren't attended to," he says in one of the lowest voices I've ever heard. Words reserved only for me.

"I'm fine," I insist.

"Don't lie to me." He leans forward, inhaling deeply. "I can smell how much blood you lost; you're beginning to stink a lot like death."

"Telling a lady she stinks. You really know all the right things to say, don't you?" I fold my arms, ignoring the pain in my shoulders and just how right he is.

"Sarcastic remarks aren't going to mend your injuries."

"I can look after myself."

"Ah, yes, because a witch from the Natural World knows so much about Midscape." His tone grows thin with annoyance.

"I'm quite resourceful."

"I'm sure you are." Oddly, the agreement sounds sincere. "But you will find no horsetail or rose here to stave the bleeding. No willow, elm, or chamomile." He leans slightly more forward. "You might be able to summon your marigold spirit, but will that be enough?" Before I can answer, his eyes flick over to Aurora and then back to me with a knowing glint. "And think of what you're risking on her behalf by allowing your strength to be sapped like this—you could be making her more vulnerable to illness, or death, even."

My hands ball fists of my cloak. I am a witch of the wood. I am powerful and can see to my own wounds without help from this manipulative cur.

But, sometimes, true power is knowing when to accept help , Grandma's voice reminds me from the Beyond.

I hold in a sigh and relax my fingers. I could take care of myself. I know I could. But it would take longer and be less effective than any care he can give, more time than what I suspect I have. Moreover, if I show them too much of what I'm capable of, they might begin to watch me closer, realizing I'm a threat.

Lie low. Wait. Bide my time.

There's no way I will be able to escape with Aurora tonight if I am exhausted from blood loss. The cold driving me to shivers and numbness isn't just from the weather and shock of all I've been through tonight. I know it's not. Just as I know that these men would force treatment upon me, after a time. Not for my sake, but Aurora's. I am their prisoner, now, as much as she is. And we are both seen as possessions of the wolf king.

Gather my strength. Then escape .

"All right," I relent. "I would appreciate your assistance."

"Good." Evander leans away with a smug smirk. The man thinks he's beaten me. He's probably imagining that I'll fall right into line. He has another thing coming.

Evander starts for his tent and I am right behind him. Ignoring the pain and keeping my head tall as I willingly walk into the wolf's den.