Page 35 of The Seeker

“Yeah, why?” I still didn’t see anything to be surprised at. I’d mentally compartmentalized my whole life.

She chuckled low. “Only you would be unaware of the fact that that’s a power our kind typically has to train for years to master.”

I’d never heard as much, but then again, Ena knew far more than me. “You’re correct. I had no idea.” My parents had done a good job of only teaching us the bare minimum, which means I’d learned more than I’d ever dreamed in the past year.

I decided now was as good of a time as any to find out more about my traveling companion. “Ena.” She glanced over at me. “In Malheim, you knew about the wooden planks used to walk between houses, but then . . . a few moments ago, you said you grew up in the woods we are currently walking through, and I was wondering how . . . how that’s possible?”

She sighed, her gaze focusing forward again. “I was born in Malheim—spent most of my early years there. I attended school, coven meetings, you name it.” She paused and I knew what was coming next. “As I drew closer to my tenth year, my parents decided they would move me and my older brother to the mountains. They were hoping that the remote location would save him from the mandatory military service and me from the forced servitude, but . . .”

“They found you anyway,” I assumed.

She nodded. “My brother first. The war hadn’t even officially started yet, but they came for him only a few years after we moved. His birth was on record somehow and . . . we aren’t sure which neighbor betrayed us, but someone did and told them we’d headed for the mountains. When they came to our door, we made a mistake. We were so certain we wouldn’t be found . . . I pulled it wide open and well . . .”

“They were there.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

I knew better than to ask about her parents, but she volunteered the information anyway. “My parents moved back into town—to be close to both of us while we worked at the keep. We moved back ten—or is it eleven?—years ago.”

“Just in time for the Purge.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, her voice hollow.

“And your brother? They didn’t kill the soldiers in the Purge, right?” I knew Askel’s older sister hadn’t been spared, but she’d been at home on the day of the Purge and wasn’t male.

“He survived the Purge but . . .” She ran a hand through her hair, more silent tears falling from her eyes. “He was never the same. I think he’d been forced to help carry out the Purge, and when you’re forced to put a sword to your family and friends . . .”

I gulped, searching for what I should say, but no words came.

“He went to the frontlines one day and never came back.”

She didn’t have to elaborate. I knew what the frontlines were like. It was only because of Otho that I’d been spared the worst horrors of the current war.

“Maybe he ran?” I suggested hopefully.

“Maybe,” she replied, pressing her lips into a thin line.

We fell into silence after that, the difficulty of traversing the forest growing exponentially. The moons had not yet risen, and soon it was pitch black. I had to rest my hand on Ena’s shoulder for guidance, which was a struggle with the loaf of bread I still awkwardly carried tucked under my arm as I stepped over small stones and tree roots bared from their home in the dirt.

“Let’s stop.” Ena’s voice was strained, her exhaustion pouring out.

“Okay,” I agreed, both of us leaning up against the tree. I broke the bread in half, holding one portion out to her. “This won’t save; we might as well eat our fill right now.”

She agreed, the sound of our chewing filling the evening air.

“Ena?” I asked, as I swallowed another bite.

“Hm?” She was still chewing, and it was too dark to see the expression on her face.

“Are there any . . . animals, or anything, in these woods?” I vaguely remembered stories of large creatures with scales and wings who’d once picked off unsuspecting Heimlanders.

She swallowed, her voice heavy. “Not anymore. The natural magic that creates those creatures has long since left Heimland. All that remains is the magic we read into existence and the animals we domesticate for food.”

It was sad, when she said it like that. But at least we didn’t have to worry about one of us staying awake to keep watch.

She pressed the waterskin into my hand, and I drank before handing it back.

“Let’s try to sleep,” she said, and I leaned my head against the tree, trying not to dwell on the unfamiliar symphony of the forest and the feeling of the rough bark on the back of my head.