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Chapter 15
Suhel hated getting sick. But this was a sickness like nothing she had ever before experienced. It not only lingered, but got steadily worse, until she felt like a mere husk of the mighty Werelupe she once had been. It frustrated and scared her to no end, especially because they still had a journey ahead of them.
The trip to Lynwood would take four days, accounting for the circuitous route Isengrim led his party on to try to avoid Vakhtang’s territory as much as possible. While the rust-furred Werelupe claimed he was king of the entire Haunted Woods, he seemed to – for the time being – concentrate mostly on the northern, more populated regions.
Lynwood was really only a day or so away from Barrowmere, less for a Werelupe travelling at a brisk pace, but Suhel knew Isengrim wanted to find the staff first, and she and Lexora didn’t think their condition would worsen all that quickly. But it seemed as though ever since they started heading toward Lynwood, their health had gone even more downhill. It hurt to breathe now. Every morning Suhel struggled to open her eyes and force herself to get up. She had to conserve her words, because nearly every time she spoke she would end up coughing. By the end of the first day, she had already resorted to having to ride on Gwyneth.
Lexora was worse along. The Kougra was so weak that she did not even have the energy to stay propped up on Gwyneth, and Suhel was glad to ride so she could keep hold of her friend. Lexora’s breathing was labored and she spent much of the time sleeping—except when her coughing woke her up.
No one said anything anymore about this being a fun
adventure. The others tried to keep Suhel’s and Lexora’s spirits up, but for
the most part the hours were long and silent as they trudged through the
forest, their thoughts concentrated on the curse and how to break it. The
lozenges were gone, and the tea was running low. The chilling fear began to
sneak into Suhel’s thoughts that they might not make it to Lynwood at this
rate.
Perhaps they should have gone there first, she thought one night as she tried to get to sleep, curled up near the campfire. Even its heat did not seem to warm her anymore. It didn’t help that the weather had taken a turn for the colder, and the biting autumn wind cut past her fur and chilled her weakened body to the core.
Grumbling, she pulled Isengrim’s fur cloak tighter over her shoulders to let less of the night air in. He had given it to her earlier to help her keep warm. Normally he would be sleeping on it, but he thought nothing of lying on the ground in exchange for making her more comfortable. Lexora was similarly bundled in furs the other Werelupes had loaned her.
Everyone but Suhel looked sound asleep, the campsite filled only with the sounds of wood snapping in the flames. Past it was only oppressive silence, and the eerie almost-whispering that danced at the edges of Suhel’s hearing and seemed to intensify at night. That was perfectly normal in the Haunted Woods, and over the years she had learned to tune it out—just the strange old forest being its strange old self.
Terra and Pharazon were curled up against Gwyneth’s ribs, needing her extra warmth to compensate for their lack of fur. Pharazon clutched the Staff of the Deep Woods to his chest as ectoplasm still swirled within it. Suhel’s packmates had helped the Draik construct a rudimentary sling for the implement so he could carry it on his back, but Isengrim promised that when they returned to the Burrows, he would craft Pharazon a sturdier leather holster.
Earlier, Pharazon had spoken to Celice about the staff, and the sorceress had been ecstatic, demanding to see it as soon as possible. Not much could beat an ancient artefact formed from the magic of the Haunted Woods and once owned by Hubrid Nox himself.
Suhel grimaced. She was torn. Half of her really hoped they wouldn’t find the staff at the old keep—but of course that would have meant someone else had found it first.
She glanced over at her king, asleep on the other side of the fire. How could he allow Pharazon to keep such a dangerous artefact? What if the Draik turned on them again? How could anyone be trusted with so much magical power?
“Terra?”
Pharazon’s voice made Suhel’s ears flick in his direction. Slowly, trying to seem asleep, she looked back over to her king’s family.
Pharazon nudged his owner’s shoulder until she stirred. “Hey,” he whispered, “I’m really sorry to wake you up, but I can’t get to sleep at all.”
Terra rubbed her eyes and stretched her neck. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
He looked down at the staff. “I can’t stop thinking about… this.”
“It is pretty awesome,” Terra said.
Pharazon shook his head. “It’s not something to be taken lightly. I appreciate what you said back at the ruins, that it might have chosen me because it knows I won’t be corrupted by it… but what if that’s not true? I’ve heard about way too many other magic users that have gone bad because they got too powerful. Why should I be exempt?” His voice dropped until even Suhel could barely hear it. “I’m scared… I’m scared I’ll turn into another Skoll.”
“I don’t think you will,” Terra said. “You’re nothing like him at all.”
“Maybe not now,” Pharazon said, “but what if this is just the first step toward my fall? How do I know I can trust myself?”
Terra looked at him for a moment. “How do you know you can’t trust yourself? What if this is the first step toward being the awesome good wizard that you were always meant to be?”
Pharazon drummed his claws on the staff. “I don’t know if I want to take that risk.”
“What if it’s not a risk?” Terra asked. “Maybe you’re just looking at it all the wrong way.” She rubbed her face. “I have a hard time with that too, sometimes. Gotta love anxiety moments where you overthink everything.”
“I don’t know how else to think about it,” Pharazon said. “I can’t just go through life oblivious to negative possibilities.”
“Possibilities don’t always equal realities,” Terra said. “Remember what you learned from the Black Keep incident? You have to trust your instincts above all else. If your gut is telling you to make friends with a deposed warlord, you go ahead and make friends with him despite every logical way it could go wrong.” She pointed to the staff. “If your gut is telling you that this is your super-powerful magical implement, then it’s yours and you’re going to use it for great good. If you really listen to what your heart is telling you, it won’t lead you astray.”
A smile crept up the Draik’s snout, and he nodded. “That did work at Black Keep. And it’ll have to work now.” He sighed and pulled the staff closer to himself. “Because as anxious as I am about keeping this thing, something feels even worse about the idea of not having it. I need to listen to that.”
Suddenly his blue eyes turned to Suhel, and the Werelupe shut her own eyes quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen her awake.
“I just hate that Suhel’s so afraid of me now,” he said, looking back to his owner. “Having one of my own friends so uncomfortable around me… there are times when it makes me just want to drop magic altogether.”
“I’m really sorry,” Terra said. “That is hard. But your magic is a part of who you are, a good part, and I think Neopia would lose a wonderful wizard if you stopped learning magic. Don’t take Suhel’s fear on yourself. This is her battle to fight—but she’s a good friend, and I have faith that she will take the right way out.”
“But who knows how long that could take,” Pharazon said. “A friend’s not a friend if they’re afraid to be around you all the time.”
Terra paused. “I know. But she needs to work through this at her own pace. The best thing we can do for her now is continue to show her friendship, and she will come around when she’s processed everything. You’re doing a great job, Pharazon. Your heart’s telling you what to do, so just focus on all of the good that’s going to come out of that. Because it will come.”
“Thanks, Terra,” Pharazon said with a yawn. “I’ll try.”
“Night, buddy,” Terra said. “Get plenty of sleep.”
“Night,” Pharazon said.
After a few moments of silence, Suhel opened her eyes. The owner and her Neopet had dozed off, their breathing slow and deep. Suhel couldn’t help but smile. Pharazon was so earnest and concerned with his friends’ welfare. He had really come a long way from the self-absorbed coward she had been tasked with taking care of in the Burrows. He had more than earned his fang necklace.
She wanted to trust him. Maybe all of this wouldn’t be so bad. They’d go to Lynwood and break the curse, and then he and Celice would go off somewhere to do their fancy magic work with the staff, and Suhel wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. To the rest of Neopia, he would be Magus Pharazon, but to her, he would just be her friend.
She still could not get herself to like that staff, though. It had put her through far too much. Why, of all the magic items in Neopia, did Pharazon have to resonate with that particular object? It just brought back bad memories every time she looked at it.
Suhel felt eyes on her and her fur bristled. She looked around and saw Isengrim’s crimson eyes boring into her from across the campfire. Again, they held a wordless conversation, just the smallest changes of expression in their faces conveying all the information they needed. He had heard the whole thing as well. She was scared and unsure—too much was going on, all of it out of her control, and she hated it.
Isengrim smiled, a warm sort of smile that conveyed strength and comfort and hope. He was there for her—he was her king and it was his job to protect her. They would get through this together. But for now, she should get some sleep and save her strength.
Weakly, she smiled back and nodded, and then the two closed their eyes and tucked their noses into their fur. Suhel supposed that she didn’t have to be in control of everything for it to turn out all right. She just hoped that all of them working together could fix things at Lynwood.
It was on the last day’s march to the school that the trouble started. After breakfast, the company wound through a steep ravine with sides of jagged black stone, and when they emerged out the other side, Suhel’s eyes widened. V’s were carved into every tree trunk in sight. Even some of the rocks scattered about the area bore Vakhtang’s mark.
Isengrim let out a short breath. “I thought I was taking us around his territory,” he muttered. “All right,” he said, gesturing with a paw. “Let’s head east for a bit. We’re not far from Lynwood now, so it should be easy to circle around.”
It wasn’t. They travelled east for the better part of an hour, and still V’s stared out at them from the forest like a forbidding wall.
“Oh, bother Vakhtang,” one of the other Werelupes said. “If we’re that close, we should just cut through.”
Isengrim studied a fresh-looking mark on one of the trees, then looked up at her and nodded. “Aye, I’m not willing to waste any more time with this. We’ve avoided his territory as much as we could, but we have got to get to Lynwood, and soon.” He drew his sword, and the others unsheathed their weapons.
“Milord,” Suhel whispered. It was difficult to speak out loud now without starting to cough. Thankfully, whispers were easily audible to Werelupe ears. “You’re in no condition to fight.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Neither are you, and that is what I aim to fix.”
“No worries, Suhel,” said one of her packmates. “We’ll keep Lord Isengrim safe. He’ll never even have to raise his sword.” The Werelupe grinned as he brandished his bone club.
Isengrim laughed. “Oh, so you are hoarding all of the fun for yourself?” He looked back ahead to the depths of the forest, and his smile faded. “Let’s go. Lynwood awaits.”
A brisk, cold breeze buffeted them as they went, sending the towering pines above them into a flurry of whispers like the roar of the sea. The wind carried the scents of other Werelupes, some old and some far off, all smelling scared and unhappy. Isengrim did his best to keep his party downwind, but of course Suhel wondered if someone was downwind of them. They met no one as the day wore on, but all around them, V’s were still roughly gashed into trees and rocks.
No one dared to speak now, and the sounds of the forest droned in Suhel’s ears for hours and hours until she felt ready to fall asleep. Her body begged for rest, but she knew if she closed her eyes she would fall off of Gwyneth and take Lexora with her. The Kougra leaned against Suhel, shaking in the cold. The two friends’ paws were clasped tightly, trying desperately to lend each other strength that neither of them could quite afford to give away.
“Suhel,” Isengrim suddenly said from ahead, “does any of this look familiar to you?”
His second-in-command perked up a bit, her ears swiveling toward him. “What?” she asked. The trees had thinned, and the Werelupes now stood at the edge of what seemed like a wide, flat, dry bed of a stream. Plants grew in the dark dirt that twisted around a bend and out of sight.
She looked around and frowned. “No… I don’t think so. Is it supposed to?”
“It’s the road to Lynwood,” Lexora whispered. “Isn’t it?”
“Oh,” Suhel said. “Well, I’ve only been down it once, so you can’t fault me for forgetting it.” Indeed, it hardly looked like a road now, after years of disuse.
Isengrim nodded. “We’re very close now.” He took a deep breath. “And then we can get to figuring out your curse—“ His fur bristled and a growl rose in his throat. “To the other side of the road,” he said, “and quick.”
Suhel smelled it, too. Werelupe—lots and lots of Werelupe. Thank goodness their party was downwind.
The Werelupe King loped across the abandoned thoroughfare
and the others followed, and he held his sword in front of him as they
carefully edged closer to the school. Finally, the trees petered out again and
Suhel found herself staring across a wide lawn that, this time, she did vaguely
remember. The rest of the sight, though, made her stomach drop.
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