To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

6. CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

I was wrong. Terribly, horribly, egregiously wrong.

Locane is awful. The worst. I’m unsure why he saved me in the first place if he was going to try to torture me days later.

After a quick breakfast, he offered up the idea of hand-to-hand, convinced that the punches I threw at him were indicative of at least decent training in that field. Disappointment presented itself quickly when I didn’t instantly show the promise he thought I might have after wailing on him the day before.

Locane obviously has quick healing abilities. His nose is back to its beautifully straight self; he barely has any bruising around his eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s just tired. Oh, but I do know better. And gods, if that knowledge isn’t satisfying.

My knuckles from where I hit him and the ground repeatedly bear no signs of the swollen bruising they did the day before. And this morning, I also noticed with puzzlement that the deep scrapes and cuts on my feet from walking barefoot were gone as well, leaving nothing but unmarred—albeit dirty—skin. Obviously I have healing powers of my own.

Just another glaring detail of myself that I’ve somehow overlooked .

“You’re not even trying,” he yells at me. “You had perfect form throwing a punch, and today you’re acting like you don’t know how to correctly place your fingers. Stop over thinking it.”

“Well, which one is it? Am I not trying, or am I trying so hard I’m choking?” I roar back. “And how could I have had perfect form? I was lying on the godsdamned ground!”

My frustration quickly bleeds into something more fierce. The fact that Locane is right on both accounts just fuels that bubbling anger. At first, I was overthinking it. I was very self conscious with him standing there just staring at me—utterly naked in my lack of clothes and shoes.

Locane kept asking me to show him my stance. When I hit him before, I didn’t have a stance. I just swung out in blind terror, but it did feel right. All that natural intuition is evading me completely. I timidly stood with feet shoulder width apart, right foot cocked out slightly, and held both fists up, boxing my face.

After he told me it was terrible, he repositioned me and told me to strike.

In my anxiousness to succeed, I threw my weight into the hit too much and nearly fell on my face. That, he said, was even more disappointing than my stance. That was when I decided not to even try. His words now are doing nothing to soothe my stubbornness and desperation for this humiliating interaction to just be over.

Fighting his frustration, Locane pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He releases a loud sigh and tells me, “You obviously have been taught how to hit. Perhaps that’s not really your strong suit, but it’s somewhere in there ,“ he throws the word like an insult as he waves a large hand towards my head.

I swell with fury. Before I can spew it at him, he continues. “Somewhere in there you have the knowledge. Perhaps you just need the right situation to make you drop your insecurities and just do .”

“I swear on the fucking Mother, if you try to sneak attack me to elicit a fight response, I will skin you alive.”

Snatching the waterskin from where it sits on a rock, I take a long guzzle. I’m about to sit down, when Locane flatly says, “No.”

“No, what?”

“Get up. We are not finished.”

“Oh, I’m finished.”

“We haven’t even really begun.” He walks towards me, extending a hand. The simple act—on top of my mounting frustrations that have slowly simmered for the last couple days—has me seeing red.

Slapping his hand away, I leap to my feet. “I don’t need your help to stand. In fact, I really don’t need your help for anything. The only thing you have managed to do at all is make me angry and doubt myself, which in turn, makes me even angrier.” I am seething. Mottled patches of red spread across my cheeks.

“Oh, Ellya,” Locane smirks at me. “You don’t need my help to doubt yourself.”

I rush towards him in three quick strides.

He clears the remaining space between us, until he is standing so close we could share breath. Locane leans down, rubs his nose against mine, and says on a gentle whisper, “I’m starting to think that you struggle to recall anything about yourself because you aren’t worth knowing.”

The taut energy between us snaps, and I break.

Screaming, I rear back and bring my forehead hurtling into his face. The pain exploding in my head is worth it as I crush his nose that so smugly rubbed against mine while he whispered to me with a lover’s tone that I’m worthless.

There’s a satisfying crunch as I break Locane’s nose for the second time in our short stint of cursing each other’s presence. He barely stumbles back before wiping blood from his face, streaking it above his full, smirking lips.

Locane beckons to me with bloody fingers, and I rush toward him, fists swinging. He dodges my first throw with fluid grace and spins to come up behind me.

He smacks the back of my head, increasing my rage into untethered flames.

I turn, swinging again, and just before my fist collides with his jaw, he vanishes. I spin, searching for where Locane reappeared and am hit with a light smack, again, on the back of my head.

Dropping down, I kick out my right leg as I turn, trying to pull his legs out from under him.

He disappears again, and I scream.

This time, I anticipate him reappearing behind me and swing around, managing to just barely grab his wrist. I punch him in the jaw just as he jumps again, and we disappear together.

We land as my fist connects with enough force that he falls to the ground, and I go sprawling on top of him, still holding his wrist in a death grip.

Locane smiles at me. “There you go. Fight like you mean it.”

The words reignite my fire. “I want to know what you’re not telling me!” I scream into his face.

“I will. But now is not the time.”

“When?” I demand, anger still urging me on.

“You will get some answers when we make it to my home,” he spits back at me .

“Some answers? I think I deserve all answers.”

Locane grabs my waist and rolls me over. I screech, but he is up and reaching a hand to help me to my feet faster than I can keep track.

“I’m sure you think you deserve a lot of things, Ellya,” he tells me, and I angrily slap his hand away. “Let’s get moving again. The quicker we get there, the quicker you will get your answers.”

Locane gives me a smile. One that looks genuine; almost like he’s excited.

The rest of the day is uneventful, and we are mostly quiet with small talk here and there. With all the questions that I have, I can’t find it in myself right now to ask them. We move quickly, both of us riding a new wave of vigor in our shared anxiousness to get to our destination. Locane says he will give me some answers when we get to his house, but I don’t fully believe him. Afterall, I don’t believe he’s been honest with me at all from the start.

But with nothing else to go on, I can’t help but hope that he keeps his word.

We stop for the evening near a creek, flowing along with multiple tiny cascades, creating a serene white noise to calm my excited nerves. Locane told me an hour ago that we are nearing the base of the mountain, and his house is around a day’s worth of easy travel once you reach the base.

“Do you live near anyone else?” I ask him as we are settling in for the night.

“No, there is no one around me for many miles. ”

I hadn’t thought much about encountering anyone else and what that would mean. If I’m a known wanted person, would anyone recognize me and turn me in? My insides turn leaden at the thought. I’m suddenly unsure if I should keep going with Locane or turn around and run straight back into the densest parts of the mountain; to live as a feral forest child as he so kindly suggested.

It’s sounding quite attractive at the moment.

Locane must sense my unease at the idea of running into potential neighbors. He tells me gently, “You have nothing to worry about. They won’t find you.”

His calming words only mildly placate my racing heart and thoughts, but I swallow and nod.

“We will be stopping in a village on the way,” Locane tells me tensely. His tone changed so quickly it takes me aback. “I need to pick up a few items while you wait on the outskirts. I have a cloak you should probably cover yourself with. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour or two.”

My fearful anxiety returns as quickly as it began to ease.

“You think it wise to leave me near a village to do some shopping?” I ask him, letting my voice show just how little I approve of this plan. Locane says nothing, as if I didn’t say anything at all. I scoff. “You are infuriating, you know.”

“The sentiment is mutual,” Locane tells me with disdain.

And then we are silent for the rest of the night.

Sitting cross legged in the middle of the woods, my eyes close and hands dig into the dirt and grass around me. A light drizzle falls, making my clothes stick to my skin uncomfortably, hard to ignore.

Not ideal for when you need to empty your mind.

The discomfort makes my focus slip. I breathe deep, desperate to control the rhythm of my heart. It threatens to hammer in my chest as I shakily inhale through my nose, exhale through my parted lips. And repeat.

Nana notices as my control steadily slips and tells me calmly, “Focus.”

I resist the urge to scowl at her and attempt to utilize her advice.

Focusing on Nana and the calming presence surrounding me, I try to control the onslaught of what’s coming on. I try to keep a piece of myself tethered into my here and now instead of falling fully into the vision—fall into it in a way where I can’t pull myself out no matter how I try. When this happens, it could take a few minutes, or a few hours, for the visions to release me.

I’m sixteen now.

Nana has been working with me diligently since I was a small child, trying to master the strong gift of Sight that I inherited from her. The power manifested in me at a far younger age than anyone else throughout recorded history. Despite years of training, I’ve yet to fully master the gift, also stronger than any recorded Seer.

I’ve always loved everything that makes me like Nana, but I quickly discovered my dislike for this gift. It’s more like a curse; the visions come on at the worst of times and take varying tolls. Some occasions, I barely get a nosebleed. But others, I have seizures, coming to with Nana holding me on my side with a wooden spoon between my teeth as the spasms die down. Those instances it takes me days in bed to recover.

One of the worst parts is trying to decipher what I’m Seeing. It could be from the past, the present, or it could be yet to come. I rarely know who, when, or where I am. I often give myself a headache trying to make heads or tails of what I have Seen.

“You can control it, darling girl. You can. Clear your mind. Know that I am with you.” As she always has been.

The calming presence around me holds tighter, encouraging me.

Trying to steady my breathing again, my control breaks. My mental anchor snaps, and I go into free fall, landing in an ancient and masculine mind.

Walking hurriedly, I’m anxious to reach the glittering waterfall, a shining beacon in the musty underground cavern.

My torch does little to penetrate the darkness as I make the long trek to my destination. Even with my advanced eyesight, the suffocating darkness is so thick I can barely make out the outlines and shadows on the rough rock walls of the cavern surrounding me.

Drawing closer to the swirling pool at the base of the misting waterfall, I drop my torch and sprint forward. Skidding to a halt at the water’s edge, I take in the beauty before me. The underground waterfall cascades from a fathomless depth above, a veil of mist shrouding the rock behind it.

Taking a deep, steady breath, I remove my boots and walk into the shallow pool with smooth rock beneath my feet. I trudge towards the veil of mist throwing facets of rainbow lights around despite the surrounding darkness.

A deep sigh escapes as I wade forward, resolved that this will be the place. I fight the urge to change my mind and choose somewhere else, knowing this must be done.

An agreement was made.

Cool water sprinkles over me as I walk under the waterfall. Reaching the rock wall on the back side, I drag my hand along the stone, procrastinating the inevitable just a little bit longer.

My palm stops on a rough patch with a slight dip in the rock .

Hanging my head, I ready myself. I reach down to the sheath at my waist and pull out the precious willowbane dagger.

Inspecting the dagger, I take in the hilt and blade—one continuous piece made from the now fully extinct willowbane tree, cut and carved while the tree still lived. The bone-white wood is as strong and unbreakable as any of the finest forged steel. The hilt has roughly etched symbols and whorls. It’s cold and textured in my hand.

Without further thought, I slice the sharp blade across my palm, barely any pressure needed to allow blood to seep from my hand. I lay my palm against the rough stone wall, letting that bit of myself collect in the small hole. The essence leaves me, bringing weakness to my knees as my magic feeds the earth the way it was always meant to—only not like this.

That tiny bit of self solidifies beneath my hand, forging itself into the cavern, finally completing a semblance of the natural order and balance of this world. As the last bit of magic flows to complete my task, I scream when a final pulse sends a shockwave of power through the emerald now forged into the dark rock. The power pulses from the gemstone like a strong heartbeat, sending small spiderwebs of glowing green in every direction away from it.

It’s not clean work. Although only a small handful would ever be able to remove it, and only if they have the correct tools to do so, it will be far too easy.

As an added measure, I snap my fingers, calling forth my trusted companion and release another part of myself; another sacrifice I resign myself to make.

The deep purple eyes of my favored creature peer up at me .

“Make sure they are worthy. And even if they are, don’t make it too easy for them. You have served me well.”

It cocks its head at me in understanding. Before I can change my mind and call it back into myself, I leave.

Opening my eyes, I lay silent for a while, using the excuse of the dark sky to be still and think of the dream that I had.

Only it wasn’t just a dream. It was another memory. A memory and vision in one.

And what feels like an important one, as if I had been made privy to some long-lost secret when I was sixteen years old. As I suspected, I do have magic. A strong gift that Nana was helping me learn to control. The seizure I had when I Saw the lecture about the Mother wasn’t a unique experience.

I’ve been plagued by those visions since I was a child.

My mind whirs, and I decide not to tell Locane about this particular dream—about what I can do. Creeping suspicion that my Sight has something to do with his aid hits like a battering ram. Is this why he’s hesitant to part ways with me? Are my Sight and strange visions connected to my imprisonment?

My ever-present headache twinges with my racing mind.

Doing my best to reign in my frustrations and doubt, the shuffling of Locane rousing nearby catches my attention. This is the first time I’ve woken before him. “Oh, decided to finally get up, did you?”

“The sun has barely risen,” he says blandly .

“Yes, well. Lots of ground to cover! I’m ready to be out of these godsdamned woods, have proper clothing, and a proper bed. And mostly, a proper conversation.”

It has no effect, unsurprisingly.

“You were sleeping in a dungeon before these godsdamned woods. I’d think you don’t have much room for complaint.” Locane gets up and rummages through his pack, producing two lush apples and throwing one to me. I catch it with precision, crunching on a large bite.

“And you seem to think I was some kind of lady before I was in a dungeon. I’d imagine most ladies sleep in very comfortable beds.”

Locane nods at me once and says, “Touche.”

We make quick work of clearing out our campsite and move on for the day. My eagerness to be out of the woods is steadily increasing. I’m still not sure what I’ll do when I leave Locane’s house in whatever undetermined amount of time he has in mind. He hasn’t promised to give me any kind of answers immediately when we reach his home—just that I would get some.

Some answers.

Absolutely infuriating.

We haven’t made it far before he asks the question I expected at some point. “Any more telling dreams last night?”

“No, just deep and dreamless sleep,” I reply airily. But my heart rate ratchets higher.

“Really?” Locane says skeptically.

“Yes, really.” I don’t think he believes me.

“Not one single memory in the form of a dream?”

He definitely doesn’t believe me.

“Nope.” I pop the p and smile sweetly at him.

He somehow knows that something else came to me last night, but I am determined to keep this one to myself.

Deflecting back to him I ask, “I’ve told you about Nana, my only family that I currently remember. Do you have any family?”

His shoulders tense as he turns back to me, showing me his profile. I catch a glimpse of a pain etched in his eye. “No, not anymore.”

Regretting asking, I expect it to put him in a foul mood based on his response. After several silent minutes I ask him, “What do you have to get in the village?”

“Supplies.”

“What kind of supplies?”

“The kind that I need.”

I laugh. “You know, I almost find myself missing the dungeon and its dull guards since I’ve been reacquainted with you.”

“We don’t know each other,” Locane says through gritted teeth.

“So you keep saying, but I don’t believe you.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I can’t wait to get away from you either.” He clenches his jaw tightly.

“Now that, I do believe.”

And we walk in silence for several hours.