Chapter 5 The Threshold of Past Ghosts

♣

After they passed the standing stones, the silence didn't falter.

Kaelen rubbed at his throat. His mouth had gone dry, but he ignored it. Endurance was something he’d learned a long time ago.

The wagon wheels crunched over fallen leaves that barely gave way beneath them. Black, twisted trees loomed ahead, their lower branches dripping a thick green sap that gave off a faint, sickly glow along the path.

Kaelen didn’t stare at the trees, but his eyes flicked to every shadow that moved. There were no animals. No rustle in the bushes or any distant calls.

Peter sat rigid beside him with his knees jammed against the wooden side of the seat, his boots sliding around in the footwell.

“Master Hound,” Peter whispered in a low voice. “Look at those roots. They’re twisting around each other over the mud and holding one another down.”

“Keep quiet and watch the right tree line,”

Kaelen growled.

His hand dropped and his fingers closed around the handle of his double bitted axe. The steel was cold and the sharp, bitter smell of witch-bane oil clung to the blade, cutting through the stagnant air.

Then something flashed at the edge of his vision. A steel helmet.

Kaelen blinked hard, but the shape stayed. It stepped out from behind a gnarled trunk. Another shadow swiftly joined it, moving alongside the carriage without a sound.

To his left, a massive warrior with a split beard and a hollow eye socket drifted through the roots.

Baefire.

The man and friend from his homeland who’d taken a spear through the throat five years back while Kaelen watched from across the field.

To his right, a young girl with braided blonde hair floated above the snow, her linen dress soaked dark red across the stomach.

Britta.

“Why did you leave, Kaelen?” Baefire’s voice scraped inside his skull. “You left us to rot. Took our boots and sold your honor. All for what?”

“It’s cold, big brother,” Britta whispered. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t heard that voice in over six years.

“The fire went out. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

Sweat trickled down Kaelen’s cheek. He could see the dried mud in Baefire’s beard, the gap where Britta had lost a tooth. His hand jerked the reins, pulling the mare toward the ditch.

His boots pressed hard against the floorboards like he might leap down into the mist.

“Forgive me,” he muttered to the empty air. “Please.”

“Master Hound?” Peter grabbed the edge of the seat, his voice cracking. “Who are you talking to? There’s nothing there! You must be seeing things.”

Kaelen didn’t look at him.

The voices in his head swelled into a chaotic roar, laughing at him, throwing every failure back in his face. His fingers flexed around the axe handle.

Then a chilling female voice sliced through the noise. Baefire and Britta dissolved into mists.

“Your mind is a violent place, Hunter,” the voice said, light and clear inside his mind. “The forest only feeds on what you carry into it. If you die to your own ghosts before you even reach my grove, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Kaelen sucked in a heavy breath. The fog behind his eyes lifted, leaving a sharp throb in his temples. He clenched his jaw and forced his gaze back to the trail.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, breathing hard until it steadied. He glanced down at the axe, then at the dark path ahead.

“Master Hound?” Peter’s hand hovered near his shoulder. “Are you back? You stopped breathing for a minute there.”

“I’m fine,” Kaelen snapped. He flicked the reins sharply, pushing the mare into a faster walk. “Get the lantern off the hook. Keep it low by your boots. No sense announcing ourselves to the creatures that might be lurking around.”

Peter lifted the lantern down, its yellow light throwing long shadows across the floorboards. The gnarled trees leaned closer, branches reaching toward the horse’s warmth.

Kaelen kept his jaw locked and his eyes fixed on the darkness. He could still feel the echo of the witch’s voice humming in the back of his mind.

She knew he was coming and she's trying to do everything to distract him from reaching to her.

The silence settled in again. Peter fidgeted beside him, drumming his fingers against his leather vest. The boy kept glancing over to Kaelen, and purposely coughing to get his attention.

“Spit it out already,” Kaelen said without turning.

Peter breathed. “You heard or... saw something, didn’t you? Back when your eyes went all strange. You looked like you were seeing ghosts… then you just snapped out of it. It was the witch, wasn't it? She’s trying to get in our heads.”

“She’s already in mine,” Kaelen said flatly. "She knows I’m hunting her and wants to do something to slow me down or Make me turn this wagon around before I can find her.”

“Is it working?” Peter asked, staring him. “Because if even half the stories about her are true, maybe we should turn....”

Kaelen shot him a death glare. “I warned you to stay away early enough. You had your chance.”

“But they say the last tracking party that came through here turned on each other. Carved each other up… and every one of them died smiling.”

Kaelen scoffed, shifting on the hard bench. “Just rumors. And even if it were true, then those hunters must have been weak. A weak mind does break easily.”

“Your mind looked pretty close to breaking a minute ago,” Peter blurted out.

Kaelen yanked the reins. The wagon lurched over a thick root, nearly throwing Peter against the side.

“Keep talking like that, boy, and you’ll be walking the rest of the way,” Kaelen warned. “Watch the left side. The trail’s narrowing.”

Kaelen kept his eyes on the trail ahead. There was no old wheel marks or any signs of life at all. The forest felt like a sealed tomb, untouched for a hundred winters. Which was a lie since hundreds have been here recently because of the hunt.

His kept one of his hand glued to the axe, his palm sticking to the leather wrap.

“Master Hound, look,” Peter said suddenly, pointing toward a massive shape rising from the snow just off the right side of the trail.