Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

“What’s happening?” he asked. “Why’d you get to go over there?”

“I’m the messenger,” she said. “I’m supposed to run communications between the units.”

“Ah,” said Curtis, knowingly, “communications-ops.”

Brendan, having jumped down from the fallen column, began disseminating orders to the gathered soldiers. He split the large crowd of soldiers into three sections; Curtis was placed in Sterling’s unit. While the soldiers were receiving their marching orders, Curtis walked over to Prue.

“So this might be it,” he said dolefully, holding out his hand.

Prue shook it. “Yep.”

The host around them began to take shape under the direction of their captains: What had been a single, milling crowd became three taut blocks of eager soldiers, their ragtag display of weaponry brandished at the ready. The two outside blocks peeled away from the central one and began to make their way to either side of the Grove ahead. Curtis watched his troop on the move and quickly turned back to Prue.

“If I don’t see you again,” he said, “maybe you’ll just let my parents know that I did this for a good reason; that, at the very end, I was truly, truly happy? I mean, I really found someplace where I felt I belonged. Will you tell them that?”

Prue felt tears rise in her eyes. “Oh, Curtis,” she said, “you can tell them that yourself.”

“It’s been nice knowing you, Prue McKeel. For real.” His eyes began to water, and he ran his uniform sleeve across his nose.

Prue leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His show of emotion made it easier, somehow, for her to forget her own fear. “Likewise, Curtis,” she said.

He sniffled back a tear. “Bye, Prue,” he said, and jogged away to join his troop.

Prue stood watching the column of soldiers disappear into the thick of the forest. When they’d gone, she turned and saw Iphigenia emerge from one of the caravan wagons and wave her over.

“Stay with me, dear,” she said, “until you are needed.”

Prue climbed aboard the carriage, sitting down next to the Elder Mystic on the driver’s bench. She was attempting a half smile when the dam broke on her emotions and she began sobbing. Warm tears poured down her cheek; she could taste their saltiness on her lips. Iphigenia, surprised, began rubbing her back.

“There, there,” she said, consolingly. “Why the tears?”

“I don’t know,” babbled Prue through her sobs. “This is just all so overwhelming. Just to get my brother back. I mean, me just being here. I feel like everyone I come in contact with, I’m ruining their lives.”

“You needn’t wear it all on your shoulders. Bigger events are in play, my dear,” Iphigenia said, “far bigger than you. Your brother’s disappearance was merely the catalyst to a long chain of events that has been waiting to tumble since the first seedling sprouted in this forest. You had as much control over your own involvement in these events as a leaf does in the time of its falling. We must only follow, we must only follow.”

Prue sniffed and carefully wiped a few tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her hoodie. “But if I hadn’t come here—or—or,” stammered Prue, “if my parents had never made their deal with Alexandra and I was never born—we wouldn’t be here! All these sweet people and animals wouldn’t be putting their lives at risk.”

“There’s as much benefit to wishing the world away as there is in demanding a bud to bloom,” responded Iphigenia as she patted Prue’s hand gently. “It’s better to live presently. By living thus, perhaps we can learn to understand the nature of this fragile coexistence we share with the world around us.”

Prue straightened in her seat and tried to gain control of her feelings. The Mystic’s words, while being comforting in their way, seemed to open up a greater mystery. “Where will you be in all this?” she asked.

“I will stay behind,” explained Iphigenia, “My order decrees this. I will sit in meditation until the battle has ceased. The

victor will be clear; the forest will inform me of this. If the Governess prevails, and the ivy is let loose, then I will simply become a part of the forest. To me, this is not a horrible fate. It is an inevitability.”

Prue squinted at the Mystic, puzzling at the peaceful resignation in her face. If she were to spend more time with the old woman, she was going to have to get used to the Mystic’s sometimes startling frankness.

In the wide glade, Brendan waited for the two flanking units to depart. He spent the time sizing up his troop; satisfied that enough time had passed, he jogged over to where Prue sat.

“It’s time,” he said. “I’ll need you by my side.”

Prue nodded and hopped down from the carriage, swallowing her remaining tears. She gave a final look to Iphigenia, smiling, before turning to walk toward the waiting soldiers.

Something made the Dowager Governess pause as she slowly walked her horse through the ankle-deep banks of ivy that blanketed this ancient ruin. A thought, like a mild warm breeze on a cold day that dissipates as soon as it’s arrived, fell over her. A suspicion. A hitch of unease.

But why, she thought, in this moment of my victory, this moment of fruition?

It had been so easy.