chapter three
PHILLIP
One week before the first day of autumn…
We’re too close to the dark forest, sire. We should turn around,” Rolfe said.
I threw my head back laughing. I was a tall man, but Rolfe was a giant. He towered over my head and his body was thrice as wide. “Surely you aren’t afraid of trees and fog,” I taunted.
“Aye, I am, sire. There are wee folk in those woods; evil creatures who would prank a man to his death, not to mention a dark witch who would boil our skin from our bones, and God only knows what else. I think we should go. We sent back a stag and a boar with the rest of the hunting party. The palace will eat well for a time and we can return tomorrow... when it isn’t so foggy.”
I sighed. He was right. We didn’t know the dark forest like we knew our own, and I’d pushed him to the boundary. Rolfe’s discomfort wasn’t surprising. He’d always hated coming near the edge. All of Grithim had reason to fear the fae that lived deep in the woods, but something had drawn me here today; pushed me farther and urged me to stay out longer than the other hunters.
Maybe it was stubbornness. Or pride.
The entire Kingdom wept when William and his men left on a hunting expedition the spring before last and never returned. I was being selfish. I should have considered how my parents would feel knowing I had stayed in the wood with no one but Rolfe. Mother was probably beside herself with worry.
But it was what William would have done. He was a provider, a hunter; never one to back down or come home empty-handed. He would’ve hunted until dawn, and then until midday and dawn the following day if necessary, until he was sure there was no hope of finding more beasts to stock the larders with.
He was brave, cunning, stubborn, and strong. When it was apparent he wasn’t coming home, my father gritted his teeth, clapped me on the shoulder, and told me I had large shoes to fill. He said I’d never live up to the shadow William cast, but should try anyway. But I didn’t want to be like my brother. For all his good attributes, he had a hundred bad ones. None that I wanted to claim.
I didn’t want the crown either, but William was gone and my father wouldn’t live forever. Soon, the crown would be placed upon my head. I would be solely responsible for the welfare of an entire kingdom.
“There’s still a week left until autumn,” he continued. “Plenty of things still growing to make a nice stew out of the meat. It isn’t winter, sire. We aren’t going without.”
Rolfe was right. We should head back. I took a deep breath and rolled the tension from my neck.
We were mere feet inside the border of the eastern and dark forests, but the dividing line between the two was distinct. Tendrils of fog extended to the boundary, however they didn’t cross it. Looking farther into the dark forest, the mist was so thick you could only see ten trees into the wood before the white-blue haze obscured everything.
We must be near water, I thought. “Is there a river or lake nearby?” I asked.
“No, sire. ‘Tis the wood’s magic. Evil, it is.”
I fought a chuckle. Rolfe’s superstitious nature was ridiculous. My father was to blame. He had taken great measures to ward our land against the fae. Tall fences made from ash wood surrounded our palace. The palace windows were braced with iron guards, and every door was forged from ash and iron. Fae couldn’t touch iron. It was poisonous to them, and ash wood would burn their flesh from their bones. If you believed in faeries, that was.
I didn’t. I believed what I saw, and I’d certainly never seen a fae before.
Neither had Rolfe, despite his rambling about us being in danger.
Besides, there was something familiar about this place. I looked up at the trees, the thick vines that hung from tall branches. The people of Grithim hung wards in the trees to guard against the fae crossing into our forests. Willow bark crosses, hundreds of them, were strung from the trees above us. “It’s an ill omen,” Rolfe said, following my stare.
“Our people put them there. Are you saying they mean to curse us?”
He huffed as his horse turned a circle. “I’m saying that if we go beyond the wards, it’ll lead to our deaths.”
“I don’t believe in superstition,” I said, my eyes following the trails of ferns carpeting the forest floor. It was like I’d been here before. Another time, perhaps. Maybe as a child?
“Well, I certainly do. We need to head back,” he insisted.
Wind whistled through the trees in low and high tones that mingled together in an eerie harmony. My fingers tightened on the reins. Our horses grew anxious. Their ears were flattened back and their large eyes kept searching around them as they stepped, turning nervously in a circle. Was it just the noise or the strangeness of this place? Could they sense Rolfe’s unease? Or was there something dangerous hidden just inside the murky haze?
“There’s something in there, sire. Something in the fog. Something’s coming for us now. The horses even know it,” Rolfe said, his voice quivering.
I narrowed my eyes, staring into the mist. If there was danger, I wanted to see it before it saw us—unless Rolfe was right and I was already too late.
The wind kicked up, blowing toward the mist but never dispersing it.
“Sire, please.” Rolfe motioned for me to follow him away from the fog and began trotting in the direction we’d come. That was when I saw it – a stag, larger than any I’d seen before. It raked its antlers along the rough bark of a tree, a rough, scraping sound almost muffled by the fog.
We weren’t in danger, after all. We were lucky to have found such fortune. The heavens were smiling on us and our people; the same people who could feed on such a large animal for weeks. It was tantalizingly close. I could take it down if I managed to stay hidden in the murk as well.
“Rolfe,” I said as quietly as I could. He turned his horse. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I motioned toward the stag and his eyes widened, worry wrinkling his face. Whispering, I vowed, “Let me bring him down, and then we will leave this place immediately.”
Rolfe’s lips thinned, but he nodded once.
As I guided Blackheart into the woods, his ears were pinned back. He tossed his head, snorting. I gritted my teeth, praying he wouldn’t spook the stag. We needed the meat he would provide. “Steady, boy,” I whispered gently.
Readying my bow, I drew an arrow from the quiver upon my back.
I took aim.
Pulled the string back taut.
Took a deep breath.
I needed a kill shot.
As I let go of the arrow, Blackheart reared. The arrow missed its mark, hitting the trunk above the stag. The animal bolted. I threw my bow over my shoulder and held tight to the reins. Blackheart turned in a circle, whinnying, looking up and all around us. It was as if something was closing in on him, something he feared but couldn’t see.
“Easy,” I sternly warned.
But he was frightened. And when Blackheart was frightened, he ran.
I struggled to stay in the saddle as he bolted, and tried to pull the reins and calm him, but nothing worked. Branches slapped my face and body, thorns tore at my clothes, and spider webs coated the pair of us with every gallop.
“Sire!” Rolfe yelled, trying to guide his own horse to help me regain control. But his horse was stubborn and afraid, refusing to enter the trees. Blackheart ran deeper into the fogged wood, away from Rolfe and into fog so thick, I could scarcely see Blackheart’s mane in front of my face.
The moist air wet my clothes and hair, slickening the leather reins in my hands as he tore through it. I tried to hold on for fear of falling or being thrown, but still Blackheart wouldn’t stop; no matter how much I pulled back, no matter how I shouted, demanding that he stop.
I could hear Rolfe’s frightened yells from behind as he tried to chase us down, but the mist swallowed us whole. It thickened as we cut through, and soon I couldn’t hear Rolfe at all. The damp air seeped into my clothing and hair as Blackheart slowed, ran and slowed again. I was just about to throw myself from the saddle when he slowed and began pacing sideways, right before the earth crumbled beneath his feet.
Although everything hurt in varying degrees, red-hot pain seared through my left side, arm, and leg. I tried to raise up, but the pain was blinding. Particles of dirt rained down from the newly-formed cliff above, sprinkling onto my face. We’d fallen at least twenty feet. Maybe more.
I blinked the dirt out of my eyes and groaned. I couldn’t sit up yet. I needed a moment to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me.
Where was Blackheart?
From several feet away, he let out an awful noise, something between a cry and a scream, and I knew he was gravely hurt. Panting through the pain, I managed to crawl toward him, clutching my ribs. His back legs were badly broken. The bones that weren’t shattered to pieces, stuck out of the skin. He could barely move his front legs.
They might be broken, too.
With tears in my eyes and a curse on my tongue, I pulled my hunting knife out, kneeling beside him and stroking his mane. I closed my eyes tightly and cradled his head.
The pain was overwhelming him.
“Shhh, boy. It’s going to be okay,” I soothed, stroking his black mane. “You’re a warrior.” With my head against his, I put my blade to his throat and quickly ended his misery. “I’m sorry,” I told him over the knot in my throat. “I’m so sorry.” Holding him, I watched his lifeblood pour onto the ground.
I held him, telling him all would be well soon, until his breaths became slower and less rhythmic. Then his muscles stopped twitching. Blackheart took one final breath, and then his enormous body fell limp.
He was gone, and it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him to the border, nor should I have pushed Rolfe, who was probably still up there, chasing after me. I didn’t want him to fall over the cliff and end up in the same position as me.
The forest floor was slick and bloody, the coppery tang hanging in the air, though somehow the fog had receded entirely. I could tell my leg wasn’t broken, so I pushed myself up and stood, but I didn’t think I could walk on it for long.
“Rolfe!” I yelled, cupping my hands over my mouth. My voice carried, but I wondered if he was close enough to hear it. The forest was quiet, eerily so. Surely, I’d hear the galloping hooves of his horse if he were near.
I yelled again.
But no answer came.
Had he gone for help? I wiped the sweat from my brow, a thousand thoughts swirling through my mind. I didn’t know if his own horse would even mind him. It had been so spooked.
I sat back down beside Blackheart’s body, knowing that soon, the vultures would scent his blood and descend, if something bigger didn’t find him first. Leaving him was an awful feeling, but there was no other way. If a predator came, I would be the only thing standing between it and its next meal, and I was in no shape to defend myself with a simple knife. My bow lay in splinters where I fell. It was a wonder it didn’t skewer me.
If Rolfe was still out there, I needed to warn him away from the cliff. And if he wasn’t near enough to help, I needed to find a way to the top of the cliff and out of this blasted forest. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but a sharp drop off. There was nothing to help me climb up the cliff again—not in the shape I was in.
I stuck my hunting knife in the earth and tried to lift myself up. My shoulder screamed, but I managed to make it a few feet. There were no footholds. The dirt was loose and dry, and my ankle was too painful and weak to help push me up. Panting against the pain, I growled, trying futilely to climb higher.
After only making it a few feet, I slipped back down to the bottom. If my ribs hadn’t been broken, I could have used the knife to help me climb up, but in this state, I couldn’t hold my own weight.
“Rolfe!” I yelled.
He never answered. I blew out an exasperated breath. He wasn’t going to answer. He wasn’t going to find me here. Blackheart carried me too far into the dark forest, too quickly.
I made it to my feet, stumbled as far as I could, and then rested before pushing forward again. I would find a way out of this hell hole one way or another.
Morning faded to afternoon and afternoon to evening. The blue sky darkened, revealing twinkling stars. Wiping the sweat and dirt from my forehead, I slumped against a boulder. I’d walked for what felt like a thousand miles, never finding a way out. It was like the earth had sunk twenty feet and there was no way out of the hellish hole I found myself in.
Rolfe had, no doubt, turned back. He would call for a search party and return with help, but when? Would they find me here, or had I already wandered too far out of their reach?
At this rate, the vultures will be looking for me soon, too.
Letting my head bang against the rock, I cursed. Cursed myself, my injuries, this damned forest, and life itself. I would fail my father and mother. Their hearts would be torn apart, just as they were when William disappeared.
Did he suffer the same fate?
Groaning, I looked to the sky, hoping for a miracle but not expecting to find one. In that moment, when all seemed lost, a miracle curled into the sky in the form of a small plume of gray smoke.
Finally, a sign of life.
I limped in the direction of the curling smoke, clutching the ribs I knew were broken. They reminded me of the fact with each and every breath I took. Not far into the woods from where I rested, I found a cottage. Its dark, wooden plank siding was symmetrical and clean. The ground around it was bare, the grass short and dead, completely dry and crunching underfoot. With the exception of the smoke, the place looked abandoned. I walked closer, past a small garden on the side of the house, which was flourishing, even though some of the vegetables and fruits should have been dormant. It wasn’t their season to grow.
The front door was closed, but the windows were illuminated by a faint, orange light. There was a strange scent in the air. Aromatic and pungent, it burned my nose. I limped up the steps and crossed the porch, knocking loudly on the door, bracing myself on the facing.
“Hello?”
A moment later, I knocked again.
The door creaked open a few inches.
“Hello?” I called out again. “I was injured in the woods and stumbled upon your cottage. May I come in?”
No answer. It looked like the owner wasn’t home, but they couldn’t have gone far. There was nothing out here but woodland. Perhaps I could sit by the fire and wait for them to return. The hinges squealed as I eased the door open. “Hello?”
Fire flickered in the hearth, casting a warm light over the room. With each step inside, I left a footprint in the thick dust on the floor.
How did the owner leave without making prints?
I slowly entered the home, looking around to make sure I didn’t frighten anyone inside. If they’d gone to sleep early, I’d scare the hell out of them.
I saw doors leading to rooms on either side of me, a table with two chairs farther into the room along the left wall, and a wall that was covered with bundles of herbs hanging upside down to dry. On the right side of the room was a large stained-glass window with a wash basin beneath it and a long counter on either side. The counter’s surface was covered with glass bottles of every shape and size.
I walked farther inside.
Cobwebs waved hello from the ceiling and corners. A large cushioned chair sat in the back corner, just beside the fireplace. The wood crackled and popped. A bound bundle of herbs lay in the fire, the leaves barely burning. This was where the scent outside came from, and if I was right, it was sage.
I leaned against the mantle, too tired to stay upright. The owner wouldn’t leave this fire unattended for long. They’d be home soon, and I didn’t want to frighten them. My side screamed when I let go of it, so I clutched my ribs again and tried to keep my breaths shallow. I limped to the cushioned chair and eased into it.
My ribs were on fire. A throbbing pain had pounded through my shoulder and arm all day, and though I saw no wound on my ankle, I knew something was wrong. Breathing through the pain, it eased somewhat. Before I knew it, it dulled enough that I could close my eyes. Rest was what I needed. Sleep was healing.
When I opened them again, early morning sunlight spilled through the vibrant window panes. The fire still flickered, and the bundled sage still burned. How has it not been consumed already? The only tracks across the dusty floor were mine, and nothing had been moved as far as I could tell.
Movement caught my eye across the room, but when I looked, no one was there.
“Hello?” No answer came. I gritted my teeth and sat up. “I’m sorry to intrude,” I apologized. “I was injured and needed shelter for the night.”
My stomach sank when I thought of my parents. A search party had probably been sent into the dark forest. I needed to find a way back and above the cliffs. If I could borrow a horse, I would pay the cottage owner back tenfold when I returned home.
Stiffness had set in overnight, and everything on my body, muscle and bone alike, ached when I stood and hobbled across the floor, retracing the dusty footprints I’d made last night. Just as I neared the table and chairs, a black cat jumped onto the table and hissed, her back arched, fur standing on end.
Swearing, I tensed and jumped, my ribs screaming from the movement. I stood back, panting through the fire in my middle, staring at it and it at me, until finally the feline relaxed, leapt from the table, and began rubbing its body against my legs, back and forth in a figure eight. She purred and I released a pent-up breath.
“Where is your owner?” I asked.
The cat meowed and scampered through a cracked door that lay just beyond the table. Swallowing, I wondered if someone had come home last night and didn’t want to wake me. Would I be wise in waking them?
It had to be done. I needed to get home as quickly as possible, and only a person who knew these woods could help me. Perhaps he could lead me out of here.
I limped into the darkness behind the cat. “Hello?” I called out tentatively.
No one answered.
Dark, heavy drapes hung over the window. Despite the light from the main room, I could barely see past my nose. It was like the darkness in the room chased away every trace of daylight. I made my way to the window and pulled the drapes aside, letting the sunlight in. Beneath the window was a writing desk. The cat, black as midnight, hopped up onto it and purred, nudging my hand with its head. I petted it for a moment and turned around to see a large canopied bed... and a woman in a dark dress floating three feet above the mattress, fast asleep.