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♞ C H A P T E R T H R E E ♞
" oh lord, oh lord
what do i do?
i've fallen for someone
who's nothing like you. "
- devil's backbone by the civil wars -
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" her scent haunts me
she's in my dreams
i don't know why
but it seems
i can't let go of her. "
SHE AWOKE TO THE SMELL of ash. It invaded her personal space, entering her nostrils without her consent, and seemed to take over her senses completely. She narrowed her eyes—which were still closed—in confusion, wondering why she kept smelling ash in the first place. The scent was absolutely intoxicating, though, she had to admit. She thought she caught a whiff of cedar-wood as well.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was staring right into the dirt of the forest floor. She groaned lowly, pushing herself up with a wince. Her abdomen still ached, and it still hurt for her to draw a breath in.
She forced herself to stand up, though, having no idea how long she'd been out. The Red Paladins could find her any second. She couldn't believe she passed out like that. She'd never done something so foolish before.
Leaning against the tree to catch her breath, she cautiously took a step forward just to almost fall on her face. She felt so disoriented and was afraid to try to walk again. She didn't have the luxury to not try, though. She had to get out of that part of the forest.
She managed a few staggered steps, but every step felt like a chore and caused a burning pain to radiate throughout her entire body.
She gritted her teeth in frustration, wanting nothing more than to take her anger out on something—anything.
"What have you gotten yourself into now?" a familiar voice sounded from behind her.
Eris whipped around quite clumsily, her need to survive overpowering her pain just enough to snatch her dagger from its sheath and pin the man against the tree she was just leaning against with her dagger at his throat. When she took in his amused face she stumbled back a bit and rolled her eyes. "Gawain...I should've known."
"Gods, Eris, I know we didn't exactly end our last meeting on good terms, but I didn't think you wanted to kill me because of it," he joked, his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. He looked the same as he had the last time they'd seen one another—which was about a month ago—with his light mustache and beard and handsome long brown hair that came down past his chin. His hazel eyes were playful and full of mischief.
"Shut up," she muttered, only half serious. His voice was so loud to her ears and seemed to echo continuously inside her head.
He took notice that something was very wrong and immediately stepped closer to her. "Eris, hey, what's wrong? I heard the Red Paladins say you were injured..."
"Nothing. I'm fine," she was quick to retort, not wanting any help from him. She backed away, stumbling over her own feet due to how heavy she felt.
Gawain wasn't Wolf Folk and didn't have lightning fast reflexes, but he was still able to reach out and help her steady herself before she could fall. His eyes inspected her entire body before they fell on the hole in her tunic that revealed the cauterized wound. "Eris..." His voice was soft, no playful tone detected at all anymore.
"I don't need your help, Gawain," she immediately replied, her voice harsh and cruel. Anyone else would've listened to her, but not Gawain. He knew her and understood her.
Instead of leaving her, he wrapped an arm underneath her shoulder to help her walk. "I know you don't, Eris. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't accept it every once in awhile."
He had a point, and she knew it. Though, she'd never admit that to him. So, she stayed quiet and let him help her walk through the forest.
"They hit you with Wolfsbane, didn't they? That's why you aren't healing..." Gawain started in realization, his concerned gaze focused on her dazed face.
When she nodded—too focused on not falling over to speak—he had his answer. He knew the Red Paladins had been working on a way to stop the she-wolf ever since she began wreaking havoc on their army. He couldn't imagine where or how much they had to pay for the Wolfsbane as it came very dear and was not something you could buy from just anyone.
"Dewdenn is near. We can make it there, and you can rest and heal," Gawain remarked as he pretty much dragged her through the forest, narrowly avoiding thick briars and branches at the last second.
Eris perked up at the mention of the Fey village. She hadn't been to Dewdenn in about a year and a half—maybe even more. Other than Gawain, Nimue was one of the only other people who really understood her, yet not for the same reasons as Gawain. Nimue understood Eris because the younger girl suffered nearly the same prejudice as her among her own people. She was "marked" by dark gods they'd say—all due to the marks made on her back by some magical bear when she was young. They both had scars that would never heal. They were in many ways the same. Eris only hoped Nimue's story would not turn out as tragic as her own.
"I bet Nimue's grown into quite a young woman, hasn't she?" Eris teased, gaining her second wind as she wiggled her eyebrows at Gawain to test his reaction. Nimue was without a doubt a beautiful young woman. If everyone didn't think so poorly of her, she'd be the center of many young men's affections in the village.
Gawain rolled his eyes at her antics, and in one smooth motion, he swiped his arms underneath her thighs so that he was carrying her bridal style through the woods. He stared down at her, his hazel eyes shining. "You know I only have eyes for one woman, Eris."
She averted her eyes, finding a sudden interest in her hands. When she inhaled, her nostrils were filled with the sweet scent of ginger and mead. Before, she used to bask in his scent and loved it to death, but now, strangely, all she wanted was for the scent of ash and cedar-wood to return.
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"THIS STUPID GIRL HAS MADE us look like a fool long enough," Father Carden spoke, his voice shaking angrily. His fellow Red Paladin brethren nodded aggressively in agreement. "We will find her, and when we do, she will pray that she's dead."
The Red Paladins around the Weeping Monk cheered, letting out loud war cries as they raised their swords into the air.
Father Carden turned to him, his eyes darkening significantly. "I want a word with you, son. Alone."
Along time ago, he would've winced at this, knowing Father Carden's talks often involved more physical abuse than they did verbal abuse. Instead, his empty eyes stared directly into Father Carden's. "Yes, Father."
He followed Father Carden through the Red Paladin camp, one hand instinctively on his sword as he walked to his impending doom. They made it to the atonement tent in no time, and without a word, Father Carden lifted the flap and shifted out of the way to allow the Weeping Monk to enter.
He did so, making sure to not show any hesitation whatsoever in his stance. His gaze stayed planted firmly on the cross on the table at the front of the tent.
Father Carden finally entered the tent, heading directly to stand behind the table and the cross. He gestured for the Weeping Monk to come closer.
He did as he was told, stepping forward and taking off his weapons along with his cloak. Then, he also slipped off his tunic, revealing the long scars—some blood red and fresh while others were a faded white—on his back and shoulders. He knelt down on the ground in front of the cross, feeling as if the last lashes made on his back would burst open.
"Tell me, boy, why did you pretend to lose the girl's scent in the forest?" Father Carden questioned, his voice full of contempt.
The Weeping Monk was a taken back, wondering how Father Carden could know such a thing. He debated continuing with his lie, but he knew that if Carden knew the truth there was no use. He opted to stay silent—something he'd become rather good at over the years.
"You think I'm not familiar with Wolf Folk at all, boy? I know about their kind. I'm the one who executed the attack on their kingdom years ago. I know all about them," he viscously stated. "Injured like she was, the girl could've never masked her scent with that much Wolfsbane in her veins."
The Weeping Monk was shocked that Father Carden knew and felt extremely exposed all of a sudden. He'd get the beating of his life, he was sure of it, and for what? Sparing some Fey girl.
She isn't just some Fey girl. You know that.
"I give you scripture, but you never seem to learn. I can't walk the road for you, boy. You must choose for yourself," Father Carden lectured. He turned away from the long-haired man—who was feeling awfully like a little boy again—to grab the rather short whip before turning back around. "Disciplinary action is in order, as you know."
The Weeping Monk wanted to wince. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to lash out in anger.
But he didn't, knowing it would lead to nothing good. He had learned that a long time ago.
Instead, he took the beating. He took the beating like he always did—teeth gritted, fists clenched, and tearful eyes closed. He took the beating for the Fey woman he hadn't even met.
When the flesh on his back tore open, and he began to smell the metallic scent of his own blood, he thought back to the time in the forest hours earlier where all he could breathe in was the scent of pine and leather.
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author's note
ahh. this took a hot minute to write bc of my writer's block lol. anyways, hope y'all enjoy.
ALSO—please do yourself a favor and look up willy wonka on instagram lol you won't regret it.
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