The Will and the Wilds

by Holmberg, Charlie N.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow. You’ll make it through the night.” It’s almost a question. “I’ll . . . continue willing a wider perimeter for you. So you can move about. But meet me back here in the morning. I don’t have the strength to look for you.”

  Now that he has some semblance of freedom, all he wants to do is sleep. His body is wanting more of that, too, these days. He grunts a response.

  “Good night, Maekallus.”

  And like that, she is gone.

  CHAPTER 18

  Orjans are humanoid mystings of high intellect. The origin of their creation is unknown.

  “Enna?” Papa calls from his bedroom when the wood in the hallway creaks under my feet.

  I snuffed my lantern outside, so it’s dark within the house. I poke my head into his room. “Yes, Papa?”

  “Where have you been? Are you just getting home?”

  My heart aches to hear his worry. “Oh, no, Papa. I’ve been home since before the sunset. Don’t you remember? I just needed to use the outhouse.”

  I can’t make out his features in the dark room, but I can imagine his face crinkling, especially around the eyes, as he tries to remember. I hate lying to my father—he has a hard enough time determining what’s real and what’s not without my inventions. My struggle with my own weakening memory makes the betrayal that much sharper.

  He must accept the falsehood, for he goes on, “Tennith came by while you were away to check on me. Said he wanted to talk to you, but wouldn’t say why.”

  The Will Stone hangs heavy from its chain. Did my unspoken plea make it to him, then? I vow to offer him my utmost gratitude when we next cross paths.

  I step into the room and sit on the edge of my father’s bed. Feel his forehead. No fever, but his skin is a little too cool for a man who’s been bundled in blankets on a warm summer night. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.”

  “Such should be expected. Can I get you anything?”

  His hand finds mine. His thumb brushes my bandage. “No, my dear. Get some rest. I’m sorry to keep you. That nail, on the ladder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought I hammered it in. I’ll check in the morning.”

  “You’ll stay in bed.” I pull from his grasp and straighten his blankets. “I want you well. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Thank you, Elefie.”

  “Enna, Papa.”

  “Mmm.” He rolls onto his side.

  I kiss his head and leave for my own room. Sleep takes me without a fight.

  I submerge my hand into the cool water of the bucket, watching stains of red and black diffuse through it. I know Maekallus has worsened over the night, more than usual, for my realm seems to be eating this sliver of myself as well.

  I pull my hand out, apply a nearly useless salve, and wrap it again. I managed to rise early and finish the chores, though my soiled clothes are soaking in the washtub. Blood is a tricky thing to clean. Fortunately, most of my dresses are dark and don’t show evidence of my adventures in the wildwood. Regardless, I don’t like knowing it’s there.

  I hold my hand to my breast and take a deep breath. Maekallus will need me again today. The words of Attaby ring in my head: Little mortal, you’ve just half a soul left. Be careful how you divide it.

  Half a soul. What will I lose today by bestowing another kiss on Maekallus? I must redouble my efforts to break his binding. I’m not ready to die.

  And I don’t want Maekallus to die, either.

  The sentiment lingers in my thoughts as I prepare my basket for another trek through the wildwood. I think of Maekallus carrying me, his arms pocked by corruption, yet still strong and . . . warm. I stroke the wrapping around the unchanged gray mark the gobler left on my forearm. The gobler’s hand was so cold. Maekallus’s touch warms by the day.

  I try to ignore the pressure in my chest as I check on my father.

  He’s paler than yesterday. His voice rasps, too. I put down my basket and straightway make him more aster leaf tea and soup. I take the pillows and blankets from my bed and make him as comfortable as he can be. He wakes from his dozing and smiles at me.

  “I’ll get over it,” he promises.

  “Of course you will. I’m not caring for all those mushrooms myself.” I need to tend the oon berry surrounding the house. I may have the Will Stone, but my father does not, and I am not home as much as I should be. If only I’d healed Maekallus last night instead of trying to save a few hours. Then I could have stayed at Papa’s side today.

  I help my father drink his tea. I won’t be gone long. I pray that my body will have the strength it needs to be swift. The cut on my palm throbs in response, soaking the bandage.

  I wait until slumber claims my father again, then take a long moment to listen to his breathing before I set out for the glade.

  The Will Stone tells me Maekallus has not wandered far. I find him only an eighth of a mile from the clearing where his binding spell is staked. I’m glad—it takes so much of my energy just to make it this far, and I can’t spare time waiting for him to return.

  He’s tucked into a small space between clustered trees, a little rocky to get to, the ground slightly sloped. He leans against an aspen. His breathing is similar to my father’s, but heavier, wetter. The mortal realm is working hard on him. His skin is more black than peach, and black streaks through his bound hair. Half his face is darkened with corruption. The muscles of his back are taut. I can only imagine the pain it causes him.

  When I speak, it startles him. It is becoming easier and easier to sneak up on Maekallus. I imagine few could scare him, before he met me.

  “I brought you some stew,” I offer. “And water, though now you should be able to find it on your own.”

  He somehow manages to grin, even as the skin around the gray burn on his chest weeps a few drops of tar. “Did you know the forest looks all the same? The cage has only gotten larger.”

  “That’s not true.” I set the basket down in a nook formed by a tree root. “Farther east it opens up into a sort of studded meadow. South, past my home, there’s a waterfall. Just a small one, but it’s beautiful in the winter. It makes thick icicles that shine with rainbows when the sun hits them.” I pause. “Do you have that, in the monster realm? Rainbows, waterfalls.”

  “Rainbows, no,” he rasps. “Waterfalls, yes. Most are not made of water, however.”

  The scholarly part of me wants to ask what they are made of, but the memory of that strange, horrifying substance Attaby had collected in a bowl on his makeshift worktable makes me pause. Besides, now is not the time for research.

  My eyes drop to the thread of light ever piercing his chest. I wonder if that hurts, too. He doesn’t show it, if it does. For a mysting and a trickster, Maekallus keeps his complaining to a minimum.

  I lick my lips. Half a soul. “We’ll break it, won’t we?”

  He rubs the poisoned flesh of his chest and stands with effort. “Somehow.”

  We face each other, silent for several seconds, until I feel strange inside. My mind blanks of words. Why should I feel awkward now? I’ve kissed him several times. Yet now, even with him in this deteriorated state, I feel . . . nervous. Like I did with Tennith.

  Papa is waiting, I remind myself. I leave my basket and pick my way across the short space between us. Clench my hands into fists to hide the anxious quiver of my fingers. Say a silent apology to that deep space inside me. I can feel the warmth of what I lost radiating from Maekallus’s broken body.

  I lift my face toward his. Take in the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but he is handsome. More so than before, though the exchanging of soul hasn’t altered his face. It is the way I look at him that has changed, and that scares me most of all.

  He hesitates. Only for a moment, but I notice it, and I wonder.

  He doesn’t touch me, save for his lips to mine. They are half-cold, half-warm. I crack with silent thunder even before feeli
ng the break inside me. Hear my fractured soul’s sorrow as yet more of it spins out of me and into him. At least this time I remain conscious.

  Maekallus stumbles as though the extra piece of my soul struck him. He grabs my bandaged hand for balance. Almost instantly his skin clears, even the burns.

  I don’t feel any different, save for the sadness blooming in my gut like a poisonous flower. I squeeze his hand. He looks at me, and my mouth falls open.

  “Maekallus”—his name is half breath—“your . . . eyes.”

  Their harsh yellow pigment has given way to warm amber. Not a common color by any stretch of the imagination, but a passable one, for a mortal. I marvel at them, at the humanness of that hue. Again my grandmother’s voice surfaces in my mind: What is a soul if not an extension of the heart?

  My lips part. Am I giving Maekallus a human heart, too?

  “What—” he begins, but he’s interrupted, and not by me.

  “Enna?”

  I’m so startled to hear the familiar voice I nearly collapse where I stand. Whirling around, I see Tennith coming through the trees. He’s in his hunting leathers, but carries no game.

  I glance back to Maekallus, then to Tennith, choking on my own breath. To be seen here, with a mysting, and in such a compromising position. Dear gods above, whom will he tell? Maekallus’s eyes may be passable, but that horn gives him away! My father and I will be cast out completely, and I will be lucky if that’s the only consequence—

  The lack of judgment in Tennith’s features confuses me, even as my pulse races faster than a mountain-fed brook. His countenance is gentle, concerned.

  He pauses. “You look so pale. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to follow you. But I saw you go into the wildwood, and I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

  Words fail me. Tennith’s eyes only watch me, not Maekallus. He does, however, glance to my basket.

  “Hmm.” Maekallus puts his hands on his hips. “At least that part still works.”

  Tennith doesn’t seem to hear him. To see him. “Enna?”

  The instant he says my name, I remember the first thing Maekallus ever said to me. You can see me?

  Breath rushes out of me all at once. Relief has never tasted sweeter. Somehow, Maekallus is hiding himself from Tennith’s eyes. The Will Stone must have prevented Maekallus from remaining invisible the day we met. He had never meant to interact with me, only sate his curiosity, but his spell hadn’t held against my charm.

  “I-I’m sorry. Yes, you startled me.” My heart is beating so quickly, perhaps I’ll faint after all.

  Tennith again glances to my basket. “Where are you going?”

  I say the first thing that jumps to mind. “My grandmother’s.”

  To my relief, he nods.

  Maekallus steps around me, studying Tennith like he’s some bizarre mortal creature. “Who is this?”

  I don’t answer him, of course. Tennith may not be able to hear Maekallus’s voice, but he’ll certainly hear mine. I try very hard to keep my eyes on Tennith.

  He takes another step into the small glade. Runs a gloved hand down the leather over his arm. “Enna, I feel like . . . you’ve been avoiding me. I haven’t seen you in town.”

  “I don’t frequent town.”

  “That’s . . . true. I visited your father yesterday. He couldn’t remember where you’d gone.”

  “Tubers.” I answer too quickly and try not to wince at the obviousness of it. Maekallus notices, however, and laughs. “I was . . . hunting tubers. Papa’s memory isn’t as sharp as it once was.”

  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t pry.”

  Maekallus stands directly in front of me. “Seems like he’s prying to me.”

  I sidestep to my basket and pick it up, if only so I can see around Maekallus to Tennith’s face.

  Tennith sighs. “But we’re here now, and I should be direct.”

  Oh gods, no. “Tennith—”

  “I’ve been baffled since we kissed.”

  Maekallus’s brows shoot up. He glances at me. “Oh?”

  I feel blood rising to my face. “Tennith, I—”

  “Don’t want to explain yourself, I know. So you’ve said.”

  Maekallus steps closer to Tennith, until he’s practically breathing on the man. His horn looms above him like an executioner’s ax. Tennith is a good deal shorter—the length of my hand, at least. “How old is he?” Maekallus asks. “Can he even fill out those breeches?”

  I cover my face with my hand, trying to cool the heat beneath my skin.

  “I’ve embarrassed you.” Tennith’s tone is apologetic.

  I drop my hand and send a scathing look toward Maekallus. “No, no, you deserve to know. But . . .” I swallow my frustration. “I just . . . I truly can’t explain to you right now. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not trying to . . . force . . . you into anything, Enna.” A single, dry chuckle escapes his throat. He rubs his hands together. “I’m not even sure what I want—”

  “Oh,” Maekallus chimes in, smirking. “I think I know.”

  “—but there was something there that night.”

  Even if Maekallus weren’t extremely present for this conversation, making me feel a buffoon, I’m not sure what I would say to the sweet man before me. Honesty is impossible. Granted, there are truths I could share that wouldn’t require me to reveal my entwinement with mystings. I could tell Tennith genuinely that I asked him to kiss me so he would be my first, because I fancied him—but to say such a thing in front of Maekallus . . . The idea makes my gut churn.

  One truth I could never tell is that I haven’t given much thought to Tennith since Caisgard. Shame trickles beneath my skin.

  “Enna?” he asks.

  “Uh, yes,” I manage. I twist my fingers around the basket’s handle.

  Maekallus lifts a hand, perhaps to prod Tennith. I grab the Will Stone and silently urge him away. He backs off as though pushed and glares at me.

  I clear my throat. “My grandmother is expecting me.”

  “I can accompany you, if you’d like.”

  “Ah, no. No, thank you.”

  “The wildwood is dangerous—”

  Maekallus adds, “Very dangerous, Enna. Another mortal suitor could jump out at any moment.”

  “—but of course you know that. Gods, I sound like my father.”

  I clamor for the best response I can manage. “I like your father.”

  “Have you kissed him, too?” Maekallus asks.

  Tennith smiles, but it fades. “I just . . . I don’t want you to think ill of me.”

  I squeeze the Will Stone, then relax my fingers. “Oh, Tennith, I could never think ill of you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

  Maekallus snorts.

  Tennith shifts his weight to his back foot. “What I mean is . . . I never approached you—”

  Maekallus barks a laugh, but there’s a sharpness to it that seems to echo against my ribs. “This is intriguing.”

  “—but I noticed you. Of course I did, though you didn’t go to school with the other girls—”

  I feel like my very bones are curling in on themselves. “Tennith—”

  “No, no.” Maekallus folds his arms. “Let him continue. Please.”

  “Now you’re being polite?” I hiss.

  “What?” Tennith asks.

  I clear my throat. “I, uh—”

  But he goes on. “I won’t press you, but I wish to know why you approached me then, on that night. Or why you’d prefer to forget about it.”

  “I haven’t forgotten about it.” My words are growing sharp, and my feet are freezing, for blood continues to rush into my face and neck. I squeeze the Will Stone. “Tennith, please, later.” Harder. “Go home.”

  My fingers tingle.

  “I will,” he concedes. So easily. “Goodbye, Enna,” and he turns back the way he came. I stand in mortified inaction until I can’t see or hear him anymore.

  “Your lover?” Maekallus asks. His s
houlders tense; I’m not sure why. My soul should have cured his pains entirely.

  “No.”

  He glowers at me. “But he wants to be.”

  “Spare me, Maekallus.” I’m worn through, like I’ve run the length of the wildwood and back. That emptiness inside me gapes, refusing to be forgotten. “Tennith and I have no relationship to speak of.”

  One red eyebrow lifts. “He was speaking a great deal on it.”

  “Does it matter?” Venom laces my voice, though I didn’t mean the words to sound so hard. “I’ve no ties to him, nor to anyone.”

  He turns, and in two steps he’s standing before me, amber eyes ablaze, horn foreboding, and I curse the way my body thrills at his closeness. He is a mysting, Enna!

  “Don’t you?” he murmurs.

  His hand slides beneath my hair, against the side of my neck, as though he’s going to kiss me. I push a hand against his chest to shove him away—I can’t lose more of my soul so soon, especially not for some game—

  His horn dips from sight. His breath brushes my ear. His lips graze the side of my neck.

  I’m frozen, shivers bursting from his touch and zipping through me in every direction. My hand stays pressed against his chest, but it’s lost its strength. My heart quickens, beating a new pattern. Heat and chills do battle across my skin as Maekallus’s mouth works down the length of my neck. What sensibility I have left tells me this is wrong, he’s from the realm of monsters and I am human, but I lean into him, shocked at the sound that escapes my throat.

  And then his teeth nip the valley between my neck and shoulder and I forget my own name.

  For a moment—only a moment—I lose myself to him, closing my eyes against the sensation of his lips. I drop the basket and let my hand snake up to his shoulder and curl around the tail of hair spilling over it. A shaky breath escapes me; I can’t get it back.

  Maekallus dips lower, easing back the collar of my dress. His horn presses against my skull, reminding me of what he is.

  Maekallus. A mysting. What am I doing?

  I dig in the nails of the hand pressed against his chest and push him away, stumbling back into a tree. His eyes smolder with something I can’t name.