Wilde's Fire Page 4

  He lies motionless on the ground.

  The air fills with the smells of burning flesh and hair, the aroma so foul, it causes me to gag. I put my hand over my nose and mouth in an attempt to block out the awful stench.

  Fearing an arrow might find me as well, I crawl to him.

  “Brad?” I choke out when I reach his feet.

  He doesn’t respond.

  Tears fill my eyes. Throwing myself over his bleeding body, I allow his death to overwhelm me. I never told Brad I love him, too. I’m sure it’s not the same way he loves me, but I do love him. Now he’s dead, and will never know.

  I will never know if I could’ve loved him the same way.

  Someone—or something—touches my shoulder.

  I scream.

  A hand clamps over my mouth.

  “Do not fear. We are here to help,” a man says, picking me up under my arms.

  Kicking and biting, I fight against him. No one can help me. I’ve killed my best friend and lost my sister. I shouldn’t be alive, shouldn’t be here—wherever here is.

  “I will not hurt you, but there are plenty of things around that will. Please stop fighting.”

  Giving in, I allow him to help me onto a horse.

  He drapes a blanket over my skin.

  Unconcerned with where I’m being taken, I slump over the horse’s back. The only thing I know is my heart is irreparably broken from the loss of my closest friend.

  Riding in the dark for what feels like hours, I drift in and out of consciousness. My tears have dried. I have no tears left to cry.

  We stop, and I’m eased from the horse by someone with gentle, warm hands. The man—whose wrinkled face I can now see—carries me like an infant.

  I fall limp in his arms.

  His face is hardened with concern, but he forces a smile when he catches me looking up at him. “You are going to be okay.”

  The man’s words send me into another hysterical fit of crying. Can anything be okay? Not after what just happened; nothing can. Not for me. I might not ever be okay again.

  He lays me in a bed, then pulls a blanket up to my chin.

  Trembling under the weight of the woolen covers, I cannot hold back the misery any longer. Howls erupt from deep in my chest.

  The man hangs his head.

  Something jabs into my arm.

  My muscles are unable to move.

  My eyelids are heavy.

  Chapter Five

  I come into consciousness for the first time in what feels like months, or even years. Inside, the searing pain and guilt of losing Brad rips a hole through my chest. I have no idea what I’m going to see, where I am, or why I’m still alive. I open my eyes, then blink a few times before they clear. The little room is dark; a few candles burn on an old table next to the bed. Sounds of people shuffling about and dishes clanging in a sink come from a room somewhere else, but no one is here with me.

  Surveying my surroundings—and judging by the clothes strewn about the floor—I assume I’m in a man’s bedroom. Fear controls my muscles, forcing me to slink out of the rustic poster bed. Someone has slipped a clean, white nightgown over my underclothes. Drawn in below my breasts and flowing to the floor, the gown reminds me of clothing from another time. If I wasn’t so afraid, I might be excited by how flattering the nightie is to my slight figure.

  I rummage through the drawers, the pants on the floor, and the hole in the dirt wall someone uses as a closet, hoping to find a weapon. I spot a small knife leaning against the wall behind a wooden chair made out of intricate tree limbs twisted together. The metal blade is so shiny it almost hums when what little light the candles offer bounces off it. Putting the knife to my ear, I hear faint sounds of people singing.

  I must still be experiencing the effects of the drugs they injected into my arm.

  The handle has a carving of those deadly, vile creatures on it. Horrified, I drop it, then notice out of the corner of my left eye someone standing in the doorway, smiling.

  He clears his throat, causing me to jump.

  My knees weaken. My heart pounds.

  “I see you are finally awake. You have been sleeping for the last two days,” he says, taking a couple steps into the room.

  Backing up against the wall, I almost fall over my own feet. I have to get to the knife lying on the floor, but he sees me looking at the weapon and rushes to pick it up before I can even take a breath.

  “I am not going to hurt you. If I wanted you dead, I would not have bothered rescuing you. My name is Lann,” he says, reaching out one hand to me while he pockets the blade with his other. Lann is tall, lean but strong, with dark hair and green eyes, similar to mine and Brit’s. He appears to be in his mid-twenties. He has flawless skin, and a smile that would melt the hearts of any girl. The only imperfection I see is the puffiness surrounding his eyes, revealing how tired he is.

  Eyebrow raised, Lann looks me up and down.

  There’s nothing stopping him from hurting me. Accepting that Lann must not intend to kill me, I reach for his hand.

  “Katriona, but my friends call me Kate,” I say, staying as firm in my grip as possible to mask the fear I’m still working to subdue in my voice.

  For an instant, I see a flash of surprise in Lann’s eyes, and then it disappears.

  “Well, Kate. It is very nice to meet you. Would you like to go visit your friend?”

  “B-Brad is a-alive?” My knees finally give out.

  He catches me before I hit the floor.

  “I am sure he has seen better days, but yes, your Brad is alive,” Lann says, standing me back on my feet.

  The way he hung on the last word makes me desperate; I feel like there might not be much time left for Brad at all.

  “Please, yes, I have to see him,” I whisper, barely audible—even to myself.

  Lann leads me down the brown, earthen hallway at a pace that makes me want to punch him. Taking deep breaths, I focus straight ahead, and I imagine the horrors waiting for me in Brad’s room. I expect he’ll be hooked up to machines, monitored by doctors, and medicated beyond belief.

  Lann pushes open the door, then stands aside.

  Two doors down from me, Brad lies in bed—alive. His injured face is pale, but someone has taken great care in closing the gaping wounds with stitches. Blisters cover every exposed part of his body. I don’t even want to imagine what his back looks like; the thought makes me shudder.

  “If you will excuse me.” Lann bows, then leaves Brad and me to be alone.

  I speed across the room and sit next to him. Taking his hand in mine, I realize how bad he is. Fever wracks Brad’s body.

  He opens his bloodshot eyes. They’re full of confusion, as if he’s searching his memory to place who I am.

  “Why didn’t you go back?” Brad asks. His voice cracks, but even though he sounds like he could use a drink of water, I still hear how frustrated he is with me.

  “When you pushed me, I fell to the ground, not back into the water. Don’t you remember? We didn’t make it; we must have been disoriented. I saw the arrows flying from the trees and those awful creatures die, and I came to you. I thought you were dead. Someone picked me up, and the next thing I know I’m here … and you’re alive!” I say, through tears mixed with joy and sadness. I bury my head next to him, too ashamed to look him in the eyes.

  Brad shouldn’t be here.

  Placing his fingers under my chin, he lifts my head. I look at the brokenness of my friend; his face contorts. He must be in so much pain.

  “How bad does it hurt?” I ask.

  Brad shakes his head. “Kate, have they talked to you about anything that’s going on here?”

  “No. I just woke up, for the first time since we were attacked.” I look at my hands, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Brad has endured a brutal attack, and I slept longer than he did.

  “Hey there,” he says, caressing my cheek with the back of his sweaty fingers.

  Brad’s touch leaves traces of
fever burning across my face.

  “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “What have they told you?” I stifle the sobs that are sure to betray me any moment.

  “They say we’re in a place called Encardia. One of the doctors, if you can call him that, thinks we might have accidentally travelled through a portal to this world. Then he went on to mutter some stuff about how that’s impossible. I think he’s crazy.”

  Brad pierces me with a hard stare, but his eyebrow raises just a little—he thinks this is some kind of sick joke. He’s a literal person, but even without him knowing about the yellow light I followed, the portal makes sense. How else can he explain swimming into a cave in the middle of a river and landing flat on our faces inside this nightmare? From the moment our bodies slammed into the ground, I’ve suspected we left our own world. Now that I’m coherent, the only thing that makes sense is some sort of parallel universe.

  “You don’t believe him?” I’m curious as to why he cannot connect the dots or even feel the difference. Were the creatures not indication enough?

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve felt like we weren’t at home from the second we left the water,” I say. I should have known something was wrong much earlier on in our trip. The moment I had the first vision of the woman, while we climbed Goat Ridge, I should have led us all right back to the Jeep.

  Brad holds me prisoner with his gaze. He’s probably hoping I will change my mind and tell him I think the people he’s been talking to are crazy, but I’m not budging. He must think I’m crazy for believing we’ve entered another world. I feel it, even if he cannot.

  “Be careful, Kate. I’ve heard the two old doctors whispering about us all day. If I weren’t stuck in this bed, I would have us home and never look back,” Brad says, closing his eyes.

  He’s in pain and trying to hide it.

  “What have they been whispering about?” I ask, breathless.

  “I don’t know; something about them makes me uncomfortable.” Brad shifts in bed and lets out a muffled cry.

  He’s dying in front of me, and there’s nothing I can do but watch. I’m useless to him here. What could they have been whispering about us, other than how lucky we are to be alive? Brad must be paranoid. He has bruises on his arm where someone has, more than likely, injected him with drugs. Those must be affecting him, too.

  I have to figure out where we are and how to get home.

  Swallowing hard, I stand and straighten the nightgown. “I don’t think they mean to hurt us. I’ll go talk to them and get some answers.”

  “Don’t go yet. Stay with me for a while, please?” Brad whispers.

  My surge of resolve melts away. “Okay.”

  I move a chair from the corner of the room, set it next to the bed, then I take a seat. I prop up my elbows, rest my head in my hands.

  Brad drifts in and out of sleep for what feels like hours. Sitting and watching my lifelong friend die is painful. He’s been here for me for almost as long as I can remember, held my hand when I was scared, made me smile when no one else could. I cannot imagine a life without him in it, without his witty remarks, his always knowing the right thing to say, and the warmth of his arms around me when I’m sad.

  What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I tell him about the light? At least, if I had, he could have decided whether he wanted to come with us. He might not be here, if I had said something. I want to cry, but I don’t want Brad to see me upset. I don’t want to make him any more worried than he is already.

  Waking again, he watches me while I think over all the mistakes I made in the forest. He motions with his finger for me to come closer.

  I lean over his body.

  He smiles—or at least tries to—as he pulls my face down to his, finds my lips, and gives them a sweet kiss.

  I cannot return his love. Other than how strange it feels, touching his swollen lips with mine while he burns with fever, I worry Brad wants more from me—more than I’m sure I want to give him. The only thing I’m positive of, in this moment, is that if he doesn’t receive the proper treatment soon, this could be the last time I ever see or kiss him.

  I stand. “I’m going to get answers.”

  “Come back soon.”

  “I promise.”

  A renewed strength builds, centering me. My mission is to save Brad, get home, and never dream of going near that swimming hole again. Reaching the door, I turn to look over my shoulder; Brad’s eyes are closed. I pray this is not the last time I see him alive.

  Chapter Six

  The hall is empty. The clanging of dishes has stopped. To the left are two other doors; one at the end, and one diagonally across from Brad’s room. I make the choice to go right.

  Neither of the rooms I’ve been in have windows; small sconces with flickering candles line the wall and provide the only light.

  Reliefs of people from a happier time decorate the length of the packed dirt walls. I run my fingers across the contours of the art-filled earth. The serenity displayed on the faces of the people in these scenes seems so unreal. With rings of flowers through their curly locks, children laugh and dance by a pond. Men play flutes, and women hug their babies. Everyone is smiling. The beauty of it is touching. Something nags at the back of my mind. The simple clothing, the wooden instruments, the love of the mothers for their children and the happy men—I know these people. I’ve seen them in so many of my dreams.

  After getting lost in the beauty and familiarity of the walls, I walk to the end of the hall, just past the room I’ve been sleeping in. The corridor leads into a dining room. Five round tables, each with four wooden chairs, cluster throughout the little area. A buffet table made from a huge tree trunk, full of steaming, hot food sits against the far wall. My stomach growls furiously at me. When did I last eat?

  Setting aside the fact I’m supposed to find answers, I look around, then make my way over to the table. Meat, potatoes, carrots—everything looks delicious. I grab a dish from one end and pile it full of enough food to feed Brad and me. But he’s asleep; I’ll take him something later.

  Sitting at the closest table, I inhale the meal. Midway through a bite of chicken, guilt consumes me. So far, these people have been good to us. They’ve saved our lives, cleaned us up, and given us beds. In return, I’m stealing food from them, but now that I’ve done it, I might as well finish devouring what I put on my plate.

  My mind wanders off and out of this gloomy little room, and I think about Brad’s confession. I should have seen it coming. How could I not realize he loves me as much as he does? People tried to tell me, but he always denied it. Even if I had accepted the truth, he was my friend—my good friend—but I had deeper feelings for someone I’ve never met. A relationship with Brad wouldn’t have been fair.

  Tears stream down my face as I finish my meal. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my sleeve. Instead of sitting here, thinking about how stupid I am for the rest of my life, I should take food to Brad and wait for him to wake up so he can eat. If I’m going to steal, it should be for someone who is sick and more than likely going to die.

  I put so much food on the plate, potatoes and chicken hang over the edge. Turning to take the treasures back to Brad’s room, I bump into someone standing right behind me. My gaze works its way up a man’s chest, neck, face, then finally comes to rest on eyes so familiar, my hands tremble, and all the blood in my body runs cold.

  It’s him.

  The dish falls to the floor. Bits of food splatter all over the place.

  “You must be Kate,” he says, frowning at me.

  “Y-yes. I came to find someone to talk to and saw all of the food and couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess.” I kneel to gather pieces of plate, chicken, and potatoes from the floor and begin to whisper under my breath. “This is all just a dream, it’s just a dream, and everything is going to be okay.”

  “A dream?” He laughs, joining me on the floor. “No, Kate, this is not a dream.”
>
  “Well, you have been in almost every one of my dreams since I was fourteen,” I say, not meeting his eyes. Do concussions cause hallucinations? I rub the back of my head. The swelling from my meeting with the rocks on Goat Ridge has gone away.

  He places his fingers under my elbow, then lifts me to my feet. Surges of excitement rush up my arm and into my chest; air catches in my lungs.

  “That is not necessary. They will clean it up,” he says, pointing to Lann and another man who looks like he could be Lann’s twin.

  The two men do not appear pleased about having to clean up my mess, but they move right in as they were instructed, while I’m brought to a table in the middle of the room.

  Arland motions for me to sit down, facing away from them. “Have you eaten?”

  “Y-yes, but I was taking something for my f-friend.” Formulating fluid thoughts seems to be impossible. I’m flustered by his presence. His eyes, the beautiful emeralds I’ve stared into a hundred times, hold my gaze now. He’s so intense, so handsome—so exactly how I dreamed.

  “Flanna, will you please prepare a plate for our guest’s friend?” he asks, without looking away from me.

  I glance over my shoulder as Flanna rushes through the room, doing as she’s been instructed. Her long, fiery-red hair bounces as she walks; her skin glows a pale white. I cannot get a good look at her face, but she must be as beautiful as the men I’ve seen here so far.

  The intensity of Arland’s eyes burns straight through me. I’m perplexed by his appearance—millions of questions buzz through my head, but nerves win out over my need for answers, rendering me mute. I allow him to speak first.

  “So you say you have dreamed about me? Would you mind sharing?” He gives me a warm smile, but it transforms into a smirk. He’s enjoying this.

  I feel my whole face flush. A memory of a kiss flashes in my head, sending the heat rushing into my cheeks. “What do you want to know, Arland Maher?”