Mother shook her head. “What if you encounter that man again who attacked you? It’s too dangerous to go back.”
My most prized possession was still in the Forest. No matter its current state, no matter the potential risks, I couldn’t leave it there. “I have to find it. Please, Mother.”
“No, Eileen, you can’t return to the Forest. I can’t bear the thought of you wandering those trees after what just happened.” Mother’s eyes became glassy with worry. “I’m sorry you lost something so precious to you, but surely you realize your life is worth more than the tattered remains of your sketchbook.”
Any tattered remains of my life’s work was better than nothing at all. My sketchbook and all it contained could very well be destroyed—a thought which sent piercing grief through me, as if I’d lost a dear friend rather than mere parchment and charcoal.
I released a strangled sob. “Please.”
“Absolutely not.” Mother’s tone was firm. “I haven’t the faintest idea why that stranger tormented you, but I won’t risk losing you. You’re all I have left. Never enter that Forest again.”
Her eyes were so wild and desperate that I pursed my lips and nodded, an agreement that was nothing more than a lie to appease her, for no matter what Mother said, I needed to get my sketchbook back. Its absence had taken a piece of my locked-away heart with it.
Rosie was waiting with wriggly impatience when I arrived at the village library the next day. Despite the continuous rain, she’d summoned me early in the afternoon, instinctively knowing I had a fantastic story to share and unable to wait to hear it. Naturally, she wanted the recitation to occur in one of our favorite places—the single-room library consisting solely of a few tables surrounded by shelves containing every book in Arador, most of which we’d read, several multiple times.
The moment I arrived, she pounced on me, squeezing me in a suffocating hug. “Are you alright? I’ve been hearing the most ghastly rumors. I’ve been worried sick at the thought that I almost lost my best friend.” Her hug tightened.
How had she heard anything about it? “I’m alright,” I managed breathlessly. She pulled away to scan me from head to toe, her gaze lingering on the cut on my neck, parting my dark hair to better examine it.
“While you certainly seem fine now, you’re not entirely unscathed.” She led me to a table tucked away from the other villagers, as if my injury had rendered me incapable of walking on my own. “You must have had quite the adventure. Tell me every detail. I cannot bear to be in suspense any longer.”
“But one of the aspects of enjoying a good tale is to tell it gradually in order to build up the suspense.”
She sighed. “Normally, I’m the biggest advocate for proper story conventions, but really, Eileen, I can’t bear it today. Cheat this once by beginning with the climax and working your way backwards.”
“What have you already heard?” For this being Rosie, she'd somehow heard something, but I had no idea what or from whom. Had my mother talked to hers that morning?
She clutched my hands and leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I heard you encountered a mysterious stranger in the Forest and narrowly escaped with your life. Is it true? Please tell me that it is.”
“He didn’t nearly murder me,” I corrected, unsurprised that Rosie had already added her own dramatic spin to my tale.
“I heard he had a sword, meaning he could have. Oh Eileen, it’s positively dreadful.” She shivered, doe-eyed, both with fear on my behalf and excitement for my adventure. “Tell me everything at once.”
Considering Rosie already seemed to know the climax, I began at the beginning with the Forest’s strange urgency to lead me to a destination that didn’t seem particularly special, save for it being the first place I’d ever encountered another person. Before I could even continue, Rosie held up her hand to stop me.
“Wait, the Forest lured you to where you met this stranger?”
I studied her warily. “Yes. Why? Is that important?”
She nodded. “Extremely. Please continue.”
She listened with rapt attention as I recounted the rest of the tale: the stranger, the cut, and his cryptic riddle. When I finished, Rosie stared at me for a moment with her typical “lost in a story” expression before she beamed.
“That was the most perfect of all stories; it was positively thrilling.”
“Thrilling? Rosie, my story could have ended in countless tragic ways.”
“But thankfully it didn’t,” she said brightly. “Goodness, you’re so lucky, Eileen. If I wasn’t afraid of getting lost, perhaps I’d venture into the Forest in hopes something like that would happen to me. The only adventures I experience are in books—unless you count surviving dances with clammy-handed dance partners.”
I leaned back in my seat with a frown. “I fail to see what’s so wonderful about my experience.” For there were plenty of things I found awful about it—my Forest’s betrayal, the gash on my neck that would undoubtedly scar, losing my sketchbook, and the unnamed emotion that filled me at merely thinking about the man I’d encountered. Though strangely, that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Rosie began pouring the tea she’d brought with her and handed me my steaming cup; I warily eyed the nearby librarian busy dusting the shelves before accepting it.
“I can’t believe you fail to see your incredible good fortune, for the Forest guided you not to a stranger, but to your true love.” Her eyes widened with wonder.
I choked on my sip of tea. “My what?”
“Your true love.” Rosie clasped her hands, doe-eyed once more. “I must have a gift, for remember I imagined the entire scenario for you just days before it happened: you encountering a handsome man while wandering the Forest. But I prefer the version of the story that actually occurred; having its pathways lead you to your heart’s match is so much more romantic.” She clutched her heart at the thought and sighed.
I wrinkled my nose. “He’s not my heart’s match. The man was as irritating as they come.” Not to mention a nobleman would never be interested in someone like me.
Rosie waved my words away and scooted her chair closer. “He was handsome, wasn’t he?”
“Handsome?”
“Certainly.” Rosie stirred cream into her own tea and took a dainty sip. “Whenever heroines meet mysterious men, they’re always handsome. Always.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I’m not sure why exactly, but that’s how it is in books, so naturally that’s how it will be for us as well. Thus your mysterious stranger must have possessed the physical characteristics essential for your true love: tall, dreamy, and definitely handsome. He was, wasn't he?”
“No,” I lied, but heat dotted my cheeks, giving me away.
Rosie squealed—earning her several glares from the nearby reading patrons—and leaned closer, splotching tea on her dress in her excitement. “Oh, I knew he was good looking. One doesn’t meet dark, mysterious strangers in the Forest without them being dashingly handsome. It’s definitely true love.”
I rolled my eyes. “How? The man’s nothing more than a stranger. I don’t even know his name.”
Once again she brushed that thought away. “Technicalities. Just because you two are barely acquainted now doesn’t mean he’s not the one. Despite your fierce resistance to the contrary, I’ve always known your heart had a match. Every heart does. Oh look, you’re blushing. You know I’m right, don’t you?”
I refused to allow her to win this ridiculous argument. “Attraction is not the same thing as love,” I protested. “Even you know that, else you’d have been in love with most of the boys in the village.”
“Yes, but attraction is certainly a start.” Rosie stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into her second cup of tea, expression thoughtful. “You can’t dismiss an initial attraction; it’s what draws two individuals together in order for them to explore one another’s hearts and discern whether they’re a perfect match or not.”
“The man’s conceit and od
ious manner are both clear indicators that we most definitely aren’t a match.”
Rosie sighed impatiently. “Must you be so doubting? You told me the Forest led you to him. Why would it do that if he wasn’t your prince?”
“I don’t know the Forest’s motivations, but I do know I’ve long since determined I have no prince.”
“Everyone has a prince.”
I rolled my eyes. “You read too many stories.”
Naturally, Rosie chose to ignore this particular comment. Her expression softened. “I know your father leaving was difficult for you, but you’ve allowed your pain to hold you back long enough. I just want you to be happy. What better way to heal than to move forward?” Eyes bright, she leaned closer. “You must return to the Forest and ask it to lead you back to him.”
“After its recent behavior, I’m not sure I trust it any longer. The only request I’ll make of the Forest is for it to take me to my lost sketchbook.”
Rosie’s eyes widened. “You lost it?”
My heart wrenched as I nodded. “Hence my story isn’t a romance but a tragedy, for my cut isn’t the only casualty from the encounter; with yesterday’s rain, my sketchbook is likely lost forever.” I blinked rapidly to stave off my tears.
She rested her hand on top of mine. “I’m so sorry.”
For a moment we sat in silence as she gazed unseeing at the walls of books enclosing us like a cocoon, as if appealing to her beloved stories for inspiration. Then she straightened, expression determined.
“You must return to the Forest and look for it.”
I frowned. “Mother wants me to stay away. She’s convinced I’ll encounter that man again.”
“That’s exactly what I’m desperately hoping will happen,” Rosie said. “Especially if he’s your true love like I believe.”
“How many times do I have to tell you—I don’t want love. I only want my sketchbook.”
“You do want love; you just don’t realize it yet. Return to the Forest to find your sketchbook, and if you’re meant to see that mysterious man again, I’m sure the Forest will lead you to him. It did so once…” She trailed off with a knowing smirk, as if she’d already read the end of my tale and discovered it played out exactly as she envisioned it would; when Rosie wanted a story to go a certain way, there was no dissuading her.
I caressed the rim of my now-empty cup with my fingertip. “My ruined sketchbook could be anywhere in that vast Forest.”
“Heroines shouldn’t give up merely because a few obstacles arise. The Forest has always taken a liking to you…as much as a bunch of trees can like anyone. Thus it’s sure to help you.” Rosie considered the matter further before giving a firm nod. “This is exactly how your next chapter must go: you must return for your sketchbook and see whether or not the Forest leads you to something far more spectacular…like that dashing stranger again.”
Her case made, she sat back in her seat as if she considered the entire matter settled. Despite my doubts, one thing was certain: I wouldn't be appeased until I’d searched for my beloved sketchbook. Even though it was currently lost in the woods that harbored that dark stranger, as soon as the rain let up, I’d return.
Chapter 4
I walked alongside the Forest’s border, brushing against the branches still wet from the recent rain. It had been three days since I’d last entered, and despite the trees rustling beckoningly, I hesitated.
I could still feel the sinister stranger’s presence emanating from the woods, especially since I’d been dreaming of him. In my dreams I was trapped in the Forest, forced to walk a continuously changing pathway that twisted and turned so rapidly I could scarcely keep up. As I struggled, the stranger watched with a smirk, staring at me as if I were the prey he’d just ensnared.
Each time, I woke up in a cold sweat. Even though I knew it had only been a nightmare, my encounter with the mysterious man had been quite real, as had the way he’d commanded the Forest’s pathways with ease, as if he were the life behind their enchanted movements. If they were really his servants, they could no longer be trusted, which meant I’d lost more than my sketchbook; I’d lost the trees themselves. I felt as if thousands of friends had died.
Yet still they beckoned, the wind pushing my body towards the Forest in an earnest plea to return. I cautiously peered inside. In the sunlight that had finally penetrated the thick, stormy clouds, the Forest lost its ominous air, making a jaunt inside seem harmless. Even if it was no longer safe, I at least needed to try to retrieve my lost sketchbook.
After an earnest plea for its guidance and a deep, wavering breath, I took a hesitant step into the woods. Stepping within the trees again was like stepping into a dream, with everything fresh, bright, and green after the recent storm. With each step deeper inside, the anxiety that had tightened my heart eased. It was impossible to doubt the Forest now, when it was gently leading me along like an ever-constant friend. The beauty and peace of the woods almost distracted me from my quest.
The branches above me bent to form a canopy, dripping water onto my hair as I picked my way through the trees. The muddy path unfurled before me like a carpet, each twist and turn unfamiliar. Wherever the Forest was guiding me, it didn’t seem to be towards my lost sketchbook. Where then was it leading me instead?
I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I looked around for any recognizable landmark, but everything looked different after the rain. I took the path much more slowly, frequently pausing to poke through the foliage for any traces of my lost sketchbook, which could have floated anywhere during the storm. An hour dragged by as I dug through mud and searched amongst the mossy vegetation, inching deeper and deeper into the Forest without success.
I sighed and leaned against a sycamore to stare up at the grey, dripping sky. The Forest was not only monstrous in size but was proving most unhelpful in where it was choosing to lead me. How would I ever find my sketchbook?
I squinted through the hovering mist as the path suddenly wriggled and shifted east. I took it without question, following the familiar beckoning lure of the Forest. Soon the surrounding trees thinned into a familiar clearing up ahead. Could it be…?
The moment I stepped into the clearing, I froze. The stranger who’d given me his cryptic riddle and had since haunted my dreams leaned against a birch tree. I stared in disbelief. Just as Rosie had hoped, the Forest had led me to him once more. What could its motive possibly be? Would I ever be able to trust it again?
The man smiled, not the same smirk he’d so generously given me several times upon our last meeting, but a real, slightly crooked smile that did strange things to my insides.
“I knew our paths would cross again. Even with the Forest’s help it took longer than I thought, but I’m pleased to see you all the same.”
I snapped my gaping mouth shut and turned and bolted. I’d barely gone a few feet when he seized my wrist and jerked me to a stop.
“Please don’t leave. It’s too soon to end our visit, considering it’s only just begun.”
I tried to wrestle from his grip, but though his hold was surprisingly gentle, it was like iron. “Let me go.”
“I will if you promise not to run away.”
“I’ll make no such promise, not when it’s my goal to be as far away from you as possible.” How could the Forest do this to me again? It was most unfair.
His smile widened. “I’d forgotten how delightful you are.”
“But I haven’t forgotten what a rogue you are.” I jerked my wrist but still couldn’t break free. I growled in frustration and stomped on his foot. He swore, but aggravatingly, his hold didn’t loosen.
“Feisty thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes, because whatever game you have in mind today, I do not want to participate.”
“There’s no need to worry,” he said, his tone assuring. “As I’ve been trying to tell you from the moment we met, I’m not going to hurt you. Please don’t be afraid.”
I sn
orted. “Like I believe that, especially considering you’ve already harmed me.”
His gaze flickered to the cut on my neck. “Your wound seems to be healing nicely.”
“No thanks to you.”
He lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted a lock of your hair. I’m sorry.” He brushed my scabbing cut with his fingertips. I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Just let me examine it.”
“I said don’t touch me.”
He obediently dropped his touch from my neck but annoyingly still clutched my wrist.
I feebly tugged on his grip. “Please let me go. Are you waiting for me to beg?”
He laughed. “There’s no need for that. Now, because you’ve said ‘please,’ I’ll grant your request. Please don’t run off.” He released me. Despite his humoring me, I glared at him. He sighed. “This meeting isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.”
His meaning hit me. I narrowed my eyes. “Were you waiting for me?”
“I thought that was obvious.”
“Why? Do you get some sort of sick pleasure in toying with innocent damsels?”
“I have something for you.” With a boyish grin, he removed something rectangular and wrapped in maroon silk from his satchel.
I frowned suspiciously. “What’s that?”
He held it out to me. “See for yourself.”
I eyed it warily. “I don’t accept gifts from strangers, particularly ones like you.”
“I believe this will be an exception.”
I hesitated but faltered at his earnest expression and my own curiosity. I took it and pulled off its covering. I gasped in disbelief. “My sketchbook!” Tears filled my eyes as I cradled it in my arms. It was in perfect condition, unsoiled by the recent rain. “I thought it had been destroyed. How did you––”
“I discovered it on the ground after you left. I admit I was tempted to keep it.”
Pathways (The Kingdom Chronicles Book 1) Page 4