“No.” Her lips twist.
A witch, then. Like me. I can’t stop a smile. Even in this desperate moment, it’s as if the world is giving me what I asked for: a companion. Perhaps she is alone, too, and the ancient spirits of this wood have brought us together.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
“Where?” she asks.
“My cottage is not far.” I dare to touch her. She’s like ice. I need to get her somewhere warm, quickly. Even in summer, our fields this far north have a chill and the woods are always wet and cold.
She sways as she tries to stand. Her ankle barely holds her weight.
I quickly shift my thinking upon seeing the state she’s in. “Instead, let’s stay here. This is a sacred place—one of peace. Underneath the boughs of the redwood we should be safe. Perhaps we could parley?—”
“He cares not for redwoods or pacts. We must go.Now.” She grabs my arm tightly.
Another howl rips through the woods, this one closer than the last. The hairs on my arms and neck stand on end, my skin puckering to gooseflesh. It is the sound of a raw predator. The sound that fuels nightmares.
I don’t dare to argue with her sentiment. Everything in me tells me to run. Even the mosses under our feet seem to ripple away from the noise.
“He’ll have to find us to catch us.” I unfasten the pin at my neck and pull my arms from the slit of my cloak. Then, I place it over the woman’s shoulders, fastening it at her neck instead of mine. I have other protections in the jewelry I wear; blessings are woven into the ties that hold the thick braid of my dark, rusty hair. But she, so far as I can tell, has nothing. I turn and kneel. “On my back. You can’t run with your ankle like that.”
She doesn’t fight me, reaching around my shoulders and locking her arms around my neck as I slide my hands under her clammy thighs. We stand together and I shift, adjusting the cloak so it falls over my shoulders as well—it should offer some protection from their magical senses. She’s lighter than I expected, but her height makes her a bit awkward to hold.
More howls, even closer. I can hear the ripping of leaves and breaking of limbs.
Run.
The instinct is raw. Primal. Every fiber of my being realizes that she spoke the truth: we are not safe here. Before the wolves can howl again, I’m off.
I can’t outrun them. But I can try to outmaneuver them. I can leverage every scrap of magic I have.
The lykin are certainly following their noses, hot on her tail. I deviate from the main path, venturing down through a field of lavender and rosemary that grows not far from the main trail. Perhaps it will be enough to mask our scent and confuse them, if only to buy us a few extra minutes.
There’s another howl behind us—louder than all the others, more like a roar. The forest goes quiet and still. The hymns of the night insects halt. Animals quiver in their dens.
I run even faster, rejoining the main trail where my feet can be surer. Still, I can’t move fast enough. They’re going to catch up, I know it. The hike into the woods that took nearly an hour, I try to run in half that time. But I only go as fast as I can be certain I won’t stumble. If I were to trip and fall…that would be the end of this chase.
“Please,” I beg the woods. “Please help us.”
Miraculously, the trees heed my words. They come alive, branches that might have snagged on the flapping cloak moving away with creaks and groans. Their roots flatten slightly.
“Thank you!” I pant. I have never seen the woods come so alive, so ready to heed my requests. I take it as a good omen.
Yet, the moment I have a sign of hope, it’s tempered with the sounds of snapping limbs and branches close behind. Of growls and snarls. They’re close.
But so is the entrance to the woods and the line of ribbon-wrapped trees that crafts a barrier to this place.
I sprint out, racing across the border that keeps the land of the humans from that of the lykin. The woman has grown heavy on my back. Her clammy skin sticks to mine with the cold sheen of sweat that coats my neck and face. Her head hangs limp on my shoulder, her grip slack—consciousness has left her.
It isn’t until I’ve gone a safe distance that I slow my pace. A roar that transitions into a shrill howl that makes even the stars tremble has me turning. Behind me, right at the edge of the trees, are three massive wolves. No…not wolves. Lykin.
They are larger than the wolves that prowl the less magical woods to the southeast of town. The smallest is nearly the size of a pony and has easily three times the muscle under all its fur. But it is the eyes of the largest that meet mine. They shine ominously as the beast dips its muzzle slightly. His attention darts from the woman to me and back, ultimately fixating on me. His lips curl back, baring his teeth with a low growl.
I grip the woman even tighter, the instinct to keep her safe greater than at any other point. She wasn’t lying. The lykin are hunting her. But the why remains a mystery.
The largest wolf stomps both of his paws into the ground at the barrier of the trees. He lets out another roar of frustration. But he doesn’t—can’t—leave the wood. Only witches can go through the barrier. I wonder if this mighty beast is the wolf king himself, come to settle whatever score he might have with the mysterious stranger limp on my back.
With a grunt and a huff, he shakes his steely head and turns back into the woods. The other two follow and disappear under the dark canopy of the trees. I nearly collapse then and there as the terror crashes upon my shoulders with the realization that the fragile peace I always took for granted might have only ever been an illusion.
