Of Wolves and Wardens (Once in Whispering Wood) by Sylvia Mercedes

Author:Sylvia Mercedes [Mercedes, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FireWyrm Books
Published: 2021-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Twenty years later, I still remember the way.

I walked this path only once in my former life, when I first plunged into Whispering Wood, searching for the ward witch. But the memory etched itself in my brain as though carved into stone.

Now, my wolf senses guide me, my heart sense compels me, and sooner than I would have believed possible, I find myself on a simple dirt trail leading through the trees. I follow that trail, swift and sure, until I come to a place where I know the forest should end. There should be sweeping fields before me. Open country, open sky, leading to a small, neat lawn and garden and a proud, stone manor house.

But it’s gone. Overgrown. Trees and underbrush pack so densely, I can’t even see the house anymore.

My lip curls back in a snarl. Many times these last twenty years I’ve wondered what happened to Phaendar Hall after my departure. Folks always said my grandfather built too close to Whispering Wood, that one day the Wood would overwhelm it. But Granddad trusted the ward witch to keep its borders at bay, and the fields in these parts were rich and fertile. It seemed to him a safe bet.

He could never have predicted Elorata Dorrel’s vindictive nature.

I push aside low, clinging branches, trying to shield the girl in my arms as best I can. At last I glimpse a wall ahead of me, covered in thick vines but still standing. That’s something, at least. The Wood may have swallowed up the hall, but it hasn’t totally digested it yet.

Adjusting my grip on the girl so that I can hold her with only one arm, I reach for the front door. My hand is more hand than paw now, and I’m able to manipulate the latch. I half expect it to be locked, but it opens lightly at my touch, the hinges offering only the barest creak of protest.

For the first time in two decades, I peer into the home of my childhood.

The foyer of Phaendar Hall was always dark, heavy with richly carved wood and a massive stairway. Now, however, sunlight pours through a hole in the roof, dappling the floor. A tall, stately cedar grows up from the inlaid tiles and breaks through the ceiling overhead. The Wood really is taking over everything.

But beyond the tree, I spy the stairway still intact.

Growling softly, I push my way through, ducking branches as I go. Brielle moans when I move too swiftly and jostle her. “Shhh, shhh,” I murmur. “We’re almost there now. I promise.”

I look down into her face speckled with light falling through the rooftop and branches. She’s paler than ever. Perhaps it was a mistake taking her out of the thick magic of Whispering Wood. Here the magic is diluted by mortal air. It might be too much for her.

But I’ve got to tend these wounds of hers somehow. And to do so, I must have supplies.

The steps creak under my footsteps but seem stable enough as I climb to the second floor and take a turn down the left-hand passage.

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