Wilde's Fire

by Krystal Wade

  "An unforgettable experience in magic, adventure, and love. I was immediately captivated by the story and couldn't stop turning pages." - Vicki Keire, Best-Selling YA Author

  "Krystal Wade's world of war, prophecy, and darkness takes readers on a twisting journey where the fate of a people is at stake and, through courage and faith, love and peace are the ultimate reward." - Sarah Ballance, Goodreads Reviewer

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  To my family.

  Without you my words would have no meaning.

  Prologue

  I’m standing in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by tall wheat grasses. Dotted along the hillside are thousands of purple and yellow wildflowers. Bending down to pick one, I catch sight of him. Tall, strong, with looks piercing straight through me.

  Stepping away from the dark shadows of the forest, he crosses into the meadow, then stops in front of me.

  “Katriona.” He utters my name as if there’s no other name in the world he’d rather speak.

  “Arland.”

  He reaches out to hug me, the way he has so many times before. His work-worn hands warm my skin with their touch. He leans in, closes his eyes—

  The sun disappears. The sky turns black. Emerging from the forest, gray beasts with hollow eyes surround and watch us. Before Arland can turn and fight, a mangled creature rushes forward, then stabs him through the heart with a long, dagger-like claw.

  My screams fill the darkness.

  Chapter One

  The light knock on my door doesn’t awaken me—I have been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying to push the memories of a troubling nightmare from my mind. Easing myself from bed, I tiptoe across the worn boards of our family’s farmhouse. Before I reach the door, my younger sister pokes her head through. Her long, brown hair falls in waves in front of her face, giving her away before she walks into the room.

  “You ready, Kate?” Brit asks, holding out a cup of coffee.

  Glancing back at the bed, I watch my best friend, Brad, as he sleeps; the gray morning light glows on his skin.

  “No. Let’s get a later start.” We’re supposed to be loading up the truck to head out to Skyline Drive, but our Mom is sick—the occurrence should be marked in a book of world records—and for the first time in our family’s history we’re not all going together. Our Memorial Day tradition is ruined.

  “Take it.” Brit continues to hold out the hot promise of a good day for me. “You guys were up late, and you haven’t slept … how bad was the nightmare?”

  I grab the mug. “How’d you know?”

  “I just had a feeling. You wanna talk about it?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  I sigh. One day I’ll get used to my nightmares. Six years I’ve dreamed of Arland, an ancient, rugged warrior who looks like he came straight from the pages of a fairy-tale. My warrior and I spend a good portion of my nightmares wrapped in each other’s arms, but always, at the happiest part, the dreams take a dark turn and end with him murdered in gruesome, unthinkable ways.

  Years ago, I tried talking to my mom about Arland and how horrible the pain of his deaths feel, but I stopped confiding in her after hearing, “It’s just a dream, dear,” so many times. I even entrusted Brad with the details of my nightmares. He tried to be understanding, at least more than my mom was, but I could tell he thought the same way she did. I haven’t spoken to him about the nightmares again.

  Brit is the only person I can confide in.

  “If you change your mind, I’ll be downstairs.” She glances behind me, then shakes her head. “I think you’re blind.”

  “Why is that?”

  Brit points to Brad. “He’s gorgeous, and in love with you,” she whispers. “I’m surprised Mom and Gary allow him to sleep in here when they know what he really wants.”

  Brad’s dark-blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and body built for playing football—although he never has—makes most girls do a double-take when he walks by, but to me he is just my best friend. Some of my girlfriends used to ask permission before asking him out on a date. I don’t know why they felt they needed it, but my answer was always yes. Unfortunately for my friends, Brad’s was always no.

  “I could put in a good word for you,” I say.

  “I’d probably be better for him, but he’s no good for either of us.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Brit looks behind me.

  Following her gaze, I see Brad roll over in bed, his eyes half open.

  “Nothing. I’ll see you in a little while.” She closes the door.

  “You girls don’t know the value of sleep, do you?” Brad asks, pressing the pillow over his head.

  “This is late for us.” I laugh. “I’m gonna go shower.”

  He waves his hand at me.

  Grabbing the clothes I laid out yesterday, I head for the bathroom. My stepdad Gary passes me in the hall, worry lines on his forehead—Mom must not be feeling better.

  “Good to see you up,” he says, always the earlier riser to work the farm. “You in better spirits about the trip?”

  “Still disappointed, but glad to be going.”

  “Don’t worry, Kate. You kids will be fine. You know those trails like the back of your hand.” He smiles. “Anyway, have a great time.”

  I nod and escape into the bathroom, then hurry through the shower.

  Running a brush through my wet hair, I hear Brad and Brit chattering in the family room about how incredible the trip is going to be. Before leaving the bathroom, I make a mental decision to ensure they both have a good time.

  Brit looks up as I walk down the stairs. “It’s about time! You ready?”

  “Yep, but we have to load the Jeep.”

  “Done. Brad took care of it while you were in the shower.” Her smile stretches ear to ear.

  “Okay, let me say goodbye to Mom—”

  “You just missed them. Gary took Mom to the doctor’s office.”

  “Well, let’s go, then,” I say, out of excuses.

  The closest entry to Skyline Drive is about an hour from our home in Albemarle, Virginia. Brit and I have been singing at the top of our lungs the entire time. Brad, who usually sings along with us, sits without talking in the backseat, staring at the mountains forming on both sides of the road.

  “What’s wrong, Brad?” I ask.

  Brit turns around and peeks over the seat at him. Her dark brown hair whips in the wind. “You aren’t getting cold feet because of the time you got lost, are you?”

  Keeping my eyes on the road, I manage to punch her arm. “Brit.”

  Brad’s baby-blue eyes meet mine in the rearview. “Actually, I was kind of thinking about that.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and grunts, giving me a look of satisfaction.

  I stick my tongue out at her. “Why on Earth would you want to think about that?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve been out here with you guys since I got lost. Without my mom to beg me not to go … .” It’s been a year, but he still has trouble talking about his mom’s death.

  “You were ten, Brad. I can’t believe it took this long for your dad to allow you to come with us again,” Brit says.

  “I didn’t need his permission, just his—”

  “Acceptance,” I say.

  Brad nods. “Do you remember how scared I was when the park rangers found me?”

  “How could I forget?”

  He was lost for only an hour, but for a few years, he couldn’t even get near a tree without freaking out.

  We fall silent as we take the exit and wind our way along Skyline Drive, watching deer graze
on the side of the road, and gawking at the spectacular views of the valleys below us. The Jeep top is open. Warm sunshine beams down on our heads, and smells of honeysuckle waft through the air so strongly, I can almost taste the sweetness of the nectar.

  Brit draws a deep breath, holding on to it as if she doesn’t want to let it go.

  We share a smile.

  I feel safe here; some of my most special memories are here, and it’s a place where I feel at home, even when I’m far from it.

  Turning off the main road, I pull into the Turk Gap lot, then park in the shade.

  On normal trips, we would have arrived much earlier so we could hike straight down the north fork of the Moormans River trail, but this is not a normal day. No parents, slow start … anything but normal in my book.

  “It’s late. We should camp at Goat Ridge,” I say, standing by the Jeep after considering the time … and Brad’s hiking abilities. Goat Ridge is two miles from the parking lot. If we stop there, we won’t get stuck in the dark looking for our favorite campsite along the river, which is another five-hour hike farther along the trail.

  Brit’s green eyes widen. Her long, brown hair bounces with the rest of her. “I love Goat Ridge! The view of the valley in the morning is going to be so cool!”

  “It’s where we camped the first time we came out here with Mom and Gary,” I tell Brad.

  He slides his pack over his shoulders and shakes his head. “You guys are always so nostalgic.”

  “It must be a genetic thing,” I say, looking at my sister, who is jittering in anticipation. My feelings equal hers, but I don’t allow them to show. I’ve always found it ironic how we resemble each other so much in appearance, but not in personality.

  I take the lead down the Appalachian Trail. The heavy foot traffic the path sees every year has deadened the grass. This path guides us along for almost an hour through a lush, green forest busy with the sounds of nature. Birds sing over our heads. Bees buzz by our faces. Every now and then, leaves scatter as squirrels chase each other through the trees. Brad and Brit stay behind me almost the entire time. We keep to ourselves, soaking in our surroundings.

  The rocks protecting our sentimental campsite along Goat Ridge are not steep, but they are slippery. I watch each step I take to ensure I don’t send any small stones sliding down into the others. Reaching the top, I turn to grasp Brit’s hand, but everything in front of me fades to black.

  Brad and Brit are gone.

  he forest has dissolved around me.

  I’m all alone in a dark, desolate space. My fingers, too cold to move, are stuck in fists across my chest. There are no lights, no sounds, no warmth in the air. Trembles start from my gut, working their way into every part of my body.

  Ignoring the fear of what I might discover, I find my voice and call out for help.

  “Hello?” The word echoes, betraying the panic inside me.

  Spinning in circles, heart pounding out of control, I look for any signs of life. There is a light, far away, but if I strain hard enough, I see it. My feet propel me forward, making no sounds as they meet the ground. The longer I travel, the farther away the light seems to get.

  “Wait, I’m here!” I call.

  The light responds to my plea and stops moving. I move faster, struggling to breathe when I reach it. The light is not coming from a flashlight; it’s coming from a person. Her face is familiar, but I’m not sure why. Her skin is flawless, her cheekbones are high and colored with a light-pink hue, and her eyes are a brilliant shade of green.

  She smiles at me.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “You have to wake up now,” she says, snapping her fingers.

  Everything flashes a warm yellow color before she, and everything around her, fades.

  “Kate, you have to wake up. Please!”

  I hear my sister sob as I come to. “Brit?”

  “Oh thank God. Are you okay?” she cries.

  “What happened?” Brad asks.

  I blink my eyes clear and sit up. The rocks and sticks I’m lying on leave red, throbbing indents in my skin.

  Brit’s face has blood on it.

  “I don’t know, but why are you bleeding?” I ask, touching Brit’s forehead with my thumb, revealing a small cut above her left eye.

  “She fell when you fainted.” Brad shares the same look of concern as my sister.

  “I don’t remember fainting. I thought I was asleep.” Brushing off their protests with a wave of my hand, I stand. I always keep a first aid kit in my pack, and I am not about to allow my sister to bleed to death.

  “Can you set up the tent while I clean her face?” I ask Brad.

  Brit puts her hands on her hips and scowls. “I’ll clean my own face. You need to sit down. He’ll set up the tent.”

  I give her my best grimace.

  “Don’t look at me that way, or I’m going home.”

  I love how strong she becomes when she gets upset, but I give in to her demands and sip water while they take care of camp. In a matter of minutes, the tent is up and they both insist I take a nap. But there’s only so much anyone can tell me to do before I get annoyed.

  “I’m fine!” I yell, scaring all the birds from the trees.

  After my outburst, Brad and Brit leave me alone.

  We hang around the camp the remainder of the afternoon, collecting dry wood and sticks, then start a small fire and sit huddled on the ground around it. We pick at the sandwiches Brit and Mom prepared for dinner. Too bad she and Gary aren’t here. They’d have us talking and laughing. Instead, silence looms over us for the rest of the evening.

  The events of the day have been too strange.

  I don’t tell them about what I saw when I fainted, because it seems odd to talk about. And so far, I’m failing to keep my promise to myself to guarantee they both have a good time.

  Brad encourages me to lay my head down in his lap; he runs his fingers through my tangled hair. At school, we spent many nights like this one, playing with each other’s hair, talking … not talking … whatever we needed, to make ourselves feel better. Tonight, I need to think, and I appreciate his silence.

  Brit watches us for a while, but then she suddenly jumps up and announces she’s going to bed. She seems upset about something; however, I’m too tired to get up and talk to her about it.

  “Kate?” Brad asks.

  “Hmm?”

  He rakes his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say. My eyes are heavy; my body is losing the war against sleep.

  “There is something—” He starts off, but even though I battle the overwhelming need to sleep, so I can hear him finish his thought—I’m out before I hear him say anything else.

  “I love you,” my imaginary lover says, voice full of longing.

  “And I love you, Arland.” I gaze into his emerald eyes, watching the firelight flicker in them.

  He puts his arm around me, draws me near, the heat from his bare skin burning into mine. I feel his lips graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

  “Do you miss him?” he whispers.

  “Who?” I ask, barely able to concentrate past my desire for more of Arland.

  “Brad.”

  Why would Arland ask me about Brad?

  Arland disappears.

  Brad lies in a barren field, surrounded by gray, mangled monsters, with a sword sticking out of his chest.

  He is without a doubt dead.

  Waking with a start, I realize Brad must have picked me up in his arms and carried me into the tent. The nightmare has upset me too much to go back to sleep. I’ve dreamed of Brad before, but none of those dreams were nightmares, and Brad never shared a spot in my brain with Arland.

  Brad is still next to me, alive and well. I drink some water and remind myself, like my mother always did, that it is just a dream. But I need to get out of the tent. I need to breathe and think.

  The zipper is so loud, I’m sure it
will wake everyone in the forest, but my crew remains asleep behind me. A chill runs down my arms as I step into the morning. The stars still shine above us, although to the east, the night sky is losing the struggle with the sunrise; pale blues and grays tint the horizon.

  It’s 5:00 a.m. and I cannot sleep. This is nothing unusual for me, so I rekindle the fire, then prepare food for us to eat before our nine-mile hike.

  The nightmare about Brad replays itself in my head; different from any I have experienced before, but somehow this one bothers me less than most of the dreams do. I wish Brit was awake so I could tell her about it. But after what happened last night, I don’t want to trouble her.

  I continue cooking the food.

  The smell of sausages over the fire fills the air. Brit comes out and sits on the ground next to me, wrapped up in her sleeping bag.

  “Mor-ning,” I say, high-pitched.

  She reaches for a sausage, takes a large bite, then speaks around a mouthful of food. “Morning.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m ruining our trip.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I was just scared,” she says, leaning into me. “Are you okay?”

  “I really don’t know what happened, but I’m okay. When you went to bed last night, I thought you might be mad at me.”

  Brit’s facial expression changes from concern to serious in an instant. “No, but there’s something I have to tell you.”

  The zipper on the tent jingles, signaling the end of our privacy. Figures.

  Brad steps out and walks over to join us.

  Brit stops talking as soon as she sees him.

  He grabs a sausage and sits down beside me.

  Whatever is bothering her is going to have to wait until later.

  We enjoy our breakfast in peace.

  Chapter Two

  After breakfast, we throw dirt over the fire, break down the tent, and re-pack our bags. By 6:00 a.m., we’re back on the trail and making our descent toward the river.

  We don’t pass any other hikers, but an abundance of wildlife crosses our path throughout the morning. We stop and watch a doe and her fawn while they chew flowers from a bush. So many beautiful birds sing their morning songs, replacing the chorus of crickets from last night. The canopy of trees over our heads is the only thing protecting us from the bright sun attempting to shine in our eyes.