Wild Spirit: The Last Hickory (3) Read online

  Wild Spirit

  The Last Hickory

  Victoria Wren

  Copyright © 2021 by Victoria Wren

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Printed in the United Kingdom

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  First Printing, 2021

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  Cover Designer Thea Magerland

  Critique Partner Bethany Votaw

  Interior Book Formatting by Enchanted Ink Publishing

  Family Tree by K.A Winters

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  www.victoriawrenauthor.com

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  Readers, please note that this book was written and edited using American English Grammar.

  The characters in this book are entirely fictional of the author’s invention. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This is a book written for young adults to enjoy, though it is my hope that older age groups will read the story and enjoy it. I would advise that for younger readers below the age of sixteen, there may be some action/fight scenes, and the occasional use of profanity that they could find uncomfortable.

  Mum and Dad, this one is for you. Thank you for everything. x

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  The Wild Spirit Series

  Also by Victoria Wren

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Darkness swept through the forest like an inky blanket, swirling up dead leaves in its wake. Win walked under the stars. Barefoot, skin cool, her arms exposed to the chill of the night. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped lightly, her heels cracking over old, dry twigs. Rubbing her arms, she wandered into a clearing, gently bathed in soft moonlight. Above a half-moon, glowed down at her like a crazed half-smile, like it knew something she didn’t. It was sinister, cold. Win ducked her head, not understanding why she was out of bed at this hour, why her dream had brought her to this place.

  This had to be a dream. Win remembered falling asleep, her cheeks damp against the pillow. Crying again. Her heart ached, her insides were oddly hollow. Falling asleep night after night, with her mind whirling, images of that night constantly flooding back the moment she shut her eyes. She saw the fire, the cabin, groaning under the pressure of heat. Grayson’s eyes in the light of the fire before he’d vanished inside. Win buried her face in her pillow, willing sleep to come so she could forget, for a while, anyway.

  But she hadn’t expected to be brought here.

  She was light, her feet like paws padding through the thicket. Up ahead, there was a gentle, soft humming noise. When she stepped out of the clearing, she saw the stone. It loomed over her like a giant totem, pointing skyward toward the dense night sky. Why was she here? Her fingertips burned, vibrated at its nearness, an oppressive, sinking sense of doom crashing over her. Something was wrong here. Win was enveloped in sadness, a foreshadowing of death. The ground remembered what happened here, and like a ghost, she was swept up in its retelling. Leaves and trees rustled behind her in the undergrowth. Someone was headed in her direction.

  Panic set in, and Win scrambled to the safety of the long grass, pressing herself between a small group of trees, densely packed together. Her lungs filled with cold air, ducking into the protective cover of the undergrowth as six figures emerged from the darkness.

  Win chewed on her lip, watching intently as they strolled into the clearing, darkened figures all wearing long tunics and hoods pulled over their heads, covering their faces. One carried a long baton, a flaming torch, illuminating the darkness. They approached the stone, bowing before it then settling in a semi-circle with the stone at the epicenter.

  Tickles of apprehension broke out across Win’s neck. She badly wanted to run, to flee this scene. Something was going to happen here, and the rock in her stomach plummeted. One of the figures stepped forward and addressed the rest of them.

  “Brothers and Sisters,” she spoke in a grave voice. “We know why we have come here tonight. To put right a terrible wrong, to seek vengeance on the invaders, who raped and brutalized this land.”

  Win swallowed a knot in her throat. What the hell was this? Where was she? She’d phased into memory before, her memories, times she had suppressed and forgotten. This was another time, another place. Her thighs ached from crouching, so she carefully rolled onto her knees, keeping her head low.

  The figures chanted in an unfamiliar tongue, but for some reason, it filled her with a sense of knowing, something deep, primal. It called to her blood. Warm, she fanned her face, her cheeks burning. Behind them, the stone hummed, a glowing blue light piercing through the black. Despite the sense of dread creeping up her spine, the whole thing was oddly serene.

  “Bring us the monster Joseph Hickory,” the woman spoke urgently. The peace was disrupted. Out of the treeline, two men appeared dressed in black tunics. Win’s eyes widened as she watched them struggle with a man, a man with wild, red hair and a long, unkempt beard. His feet skidded over the mud, legs flailing under him, and his teeth gritted in agony as he continued to fight, wrestling in their grasp.

  Win gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Her stomach rolled in anticipation. Yelling and kicking his bare feet, he fought as the two men forcibly dragged him to the stone. Despite his mature years, he wasn’t giving them an easy time. The hooded figures murmured in confusion, watching as the men struggled, binding him to the stone, securing him with a thick, knotted cord. It bit angrily into his flesh, welts across his arms and back. He was wearing an old, faded shirt, torn and frayed. He looked like he’d been kept locked away, his clothes dusty and disheveled.

  Win calmed her breathing. Her brow furrowed so hard it ached, her temples throbbing. She didn’t want to watch this. One of the females stepped into the circle and pulled down her hood, revealing long, shiny black hair. Win’s hairs stood to attention, something unearthly about the woman’s face, something old gleamed in her onyx black eyes, moonlight shone off her fawn-colored skin. Win recalled the story of the curse, at least the story she’d read in books. Her stomach rolled, the clawing suspicion that something was wrong with that story.

  This isn’t right….Win narrowed her eyes, suppressing a shiver. She sensed a deathly cold. The black emptiness of the woman’s eyes was frightening and void of feeling.

  “Come, gather around,” she spoke, her voice oddly serene. “We must take a part of him for the gods.”

  Oh…god, no. Win clenched her jaw. The man howled in fright, kicking his legs as four o
f the figures surrounded him, crawling on their knees, obscuring him completely from Win’s view. She craned her neck in time to see the woman draw a long, thin dagger from her robes.

  “Don’t do this to me!” he begged. His sobs filled the night, and Win wished she could block it out, knowing she’d be hearing that sound in her dreams forever.

  “Don’t listen to him! He is the invader, the monster. The people of this land deserve to be avenged, and he must sacrifice a part of himself.”

  Win shivered, despite sweat gathering on her neck. Sacrifice part of himself? Her head swam, she was suddenly nauseous. She didn’t dare speculate what it could mean.

  Oh no, god, please, why am I looking at this? A gentle stirring in the bushes made her jerk in surprise. The falcon hopped out of the darkness, settling next to her, filling Win with relief. Her mother was here.

  “I don’t want to see this!” she pleaded with the falcon, her eyes wet. The falcon said nothing, its beady yellow eyes strangely focused. Win frowned. “Mom?”

  We woke them up, Win. We woke them all up.

  Win’s eyes pulled back to the clearing, the terrible noise of sobbing filling her head.

  “No, I’m begging you…what are you doing?” Joseph screamed as they crowded closer.

  Win’s head snapped to the falcon.

  “Mom, don't make me watch this!” But the falcon was gone. Win blinked down at the space it only just occupied. Had she imagined seeing her? Brought out of her daze with the soft sound of chanting, her gaze followed the chorus of voices. Like tremors that began in their lungs, their voices bled together in union, the chant becoming hurried, frenzied. The cloaked woman lifted the knife; its blade gleamed in the moonlight.

  Win choked on tears, covering her mouth. No, no, please.

  “No, don’t do this!” Joseph screamed. He gurgled, and Win covered her ears as the woman with the dark hair cut into him.

  Win squeezed her eyes shut. Joseph howled in terror, his voice thick with fear.

  “Please!” he begged faintly, as though he were losing consciousness. Win couldn't see a thing, but she thought perhaps it was a good thing. “Please don’t do this.”

  “The gods thank you for your sacrifice, Joseph Hickory.”

  An awful noise made Win dare to look. Flesh slicing, blood, thick and wet, god she could smell it from here. Hickory blood. My blood. She drained of energy and gagged. The woman held something up to the glow of the firelight, a shiny wet thing, blood dripping through her hands. Win’s fingernails whited from gripping her knees so tightly, and she could only guess at what it was.

  The women in the semi-circle chanted feverishly as the stone glowed. Its harsh light filled the clearing, rolling off it in waves.

  “Brother Nassuau!” the woman chanted, elated, her smile wide and wicked. “I give you his body. Curse his family and this land. He will know retribution for what he has done, the men he has murdered, the children he orphaned. They will all know. They will all pay.”

  They stepped away, out of the light from the stone, and Win could finally see the full spectacle of what they’d done to him. Slack against the stone, his head lolled, his upper body straining against the cord that bound him. Blood oozed down his shirt, blossoming out from the wound like an ugly flower.

  Is he dead? Win waited to see what would happen, her mouth dry. A blinding light bled from the stone, a flash bright enough to send stars dancing across her vision. She shielded her eyes with her forearm, and when she managed to blink back to clarity, the organ in the woman’s hand was gone.

  Then one by one, they left, as quietly and stealthily as they arrived. With a ragged breath, and once they’d vanished into the trees, she rushed out of her hiding space.

  She jogged across the clearing, stopping at the feet of the man whose demise she’d just witnessed. Kneeling at his feet, her fingertips tentatively stroked his wiry beard. He was still so young. He couldn’t have been more than forty. She brushed his mop of red hair off his damp forehead, revealing thick brows, his lashes wet against his cheeks.

  Grandpa, she nearly choked. He’s just like you.

  He wailed, and Win jumped back in fright. He’s still alive!

  Win inhaled a shaky breath, her mind whirring. How was this even possible? She wondered if she could somehow untie him. Standing on numb legs, her feet like wood, she stumbled back, looking for anything that might cut rope. The knife lay discarded in the grass, sticky with blood. She narrowed her eyes at the blade, the hilt carved from bone; she peered down at it. Then he moaned behind her.

  “Joseph?” She fell to her knees on the grass. Taking his shoulders, she nudged him gently. “Joseph?”

  He fluttered his eyes, slowly, painfully. His irises focussed on the face in front of him. Saliva coated his beard, thin strands between his lips as he tried to speak.

  “Eliza, no,” he babbled, raising a hefty arm, landing heavily on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m not Eliza.” Win’s heart ached. She recognized the name, annoyed at herself for not paying better attention when Uncle Willard gave them the family tree. “I can't explain. I’m Winifred…you’re alive. You’ll be okay—I think. I need to get you back home.”

  She glanced up at the stone at his back; it was cold and spent, its magic used up for the night. For the first time, she noticed the faces carved into the granite, along with the carvings of animals, bears, wolves, and birds. With a deep shudder, she recalled the last time she’d seen this thing—it nearly killed her.

  Joseph rotated his wrists, rubbing at the cord marks on his free hands. He gaped at her, bushy, red brows narrowing.

  “Who are you? Another Witch?”

  “No.” Win shook her head. “I can’t explain—you won't understand.”

  Torches of light flickered in the thicket of trees, voices calling out his name. It was a woman, terrified, screaming for him over and over. Win exhaled in relief. “They’re coming for you!” she said, smiling, turning back to him. His breathing was shallow, raspy, eyes fluttering closed.

  “Joseph, no!” She shook him hard. “Don’t go to sleep, stay with me…I need to ask you something.”

  Eyes opened, watering at the creases. “What?”

  “You’ll be alright. Help is on the way,” she attempted to reassure him, but the wound under his ribs was leaking, pooling around his thighs. Win looked around frantically. With shaking hands, she darted for the knife, slicing the hem off her nightgown. Bundling it into a ball, she pressed it to the wound, then placed his large hand over the top. “Hold it there!”

  His lips quivered. “Who are you?”

  Win shook her head. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

  His eyes opened, studying her for the first time. “You look like Eliza.”

  Win smiled shakily. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. Look—who were they? Those women?”

  “Witches,” he breathed it out painfully. “Dark ones. They know what I did.”

  Win nodded grimly, not having forgotten his crimes. “I thought the Atoloa did this…they cast our curse in revenge for what you did? But that woman, she wasn’t one of them, at least I don’t think so—she was….”

  …something else entirely…

  “My orders…” he spluttered, and Win tried to settle him. “I killed…so many of them.”

  Her eyes darted away as the torches got closer; she got to her feet, waving her arms to try and catch their attention. But she was sober, slack, and her feet wouldn’t move. When she turned to look back at Joseph, he was gone. Win cried out, an icy chill running the length of her body. The space he’d occupied was empty, black mist fading into nothing.

  Win clutched her chest, a strange feeling of being enveloped in hot liquid spreading through her legs like she was being sucked back in time through a vacuum. It was over.

  Win shrieked herself awake, drenched in cold sweat, her sheets tangled around her legs. She gasped and choked on her breath, blindly reaching for
her lamp in the dark. Warm light cascaded around the room. She flew out of bed, tugging at the sash of her window, flinging it open, and cold air floated in. Still breathing hard, she stood numbly, staring at the strange, unfamiliar surroundings of her room. Her books, her old stuffed animals, photos of her friends pinned to her cork board— they all looked strangely out of place.

  What the hell was that? She padded into the hall barefoot, still dressed in the nightgown she’d worn to bed. Breathless, dizzy, she stumbled in the dark, and around her, the walls moved. Win squeezed her eyes tight, trying to quell the dizziness. In the dark, her eyes refused to adjust, and she called out her sister’s name. Panting, she put a hand on the wall to steady herself, but her hand left a print. It stuck to the wallpaper.

  “What?” She felt vomit brewing in her gut. Rowan’s door crashed open. The hazy shape of her dashed forward and held out her arms. Before Win blacked out, her eyes focussed, she stared down at her hands, coated in thick, sticky blood, and as she crashed to the floor, narrowly missing her sister’s arms, she saw the grimy remains of a bloodied hand print on the wall.

  Chapter 1

  Rowan touched down in a drooped cedar, her talons clutching the branch as it buckled under her weight. She lifted her elegant neck, yellow eyes flicking across the canopy. Below, a giant cat crept through the undergrowth, her purr rumbling in the distance.