The path was steep in places, forcing me to hold on to tree roots and slide on my bottom. Niamh did not fare much better, for her hooves were meant for flatlands, and her height meant she caught the whiplash from low-hanging branches. Her descent was comical and a few times I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud at her struggles. It was due payment for tormenting me, and yet I knew Epona would not agree. She’d reproach me for thinking ill of someone else and laughing at their tribulations—even if they were well deserved.
I thought it might be mid-morning when we reached the valley and the ground evened out, but my discomfort grew. Shadows lurked like hungry beasts hidden behind thick trees, and a musty smell clung to the air. I glanced over my shoulder, but the wood had closed in, hiding the way back and any sign of a trail. If not for Niamh’s guidance, I would be lost. Trees had collapsed across this part of the wood, their trunks black with rot while dark red moss covered them and filthy beetles clambered over them, making clicking sounds with their sharp legs. A twig snapped and I jumped, eyes wide at the eerie silence. As we walked deeper into the vale, a mist hovered above my head. It drifted like a curtain to cover the thin light from the sun and grew in intensity, hiding the trees and the return path. I trained my eyes on Niamh, watching her flaxen hair twist through the trees until a low growl accosted my ears. I stood still while my fingers stole to my knife, unsure if an arrow would be effective since I could only see a few feet in front of me.
“Niamh.” I hissed out the warning.
The quick snaps of twigs and rustle of leaves were the only reply. Had Niamh heard me? My gaze dropped to my hands. A violet radiance seeped from them. My magic had turned purple to warn me. Something was wrong. I needed to keep moving away from this cursed place. Perhaps Niamh did have the right idea—keep moving, don’t stop. I took a step only to find the mist surrounded me on all sides, a thick gray cloud, and Niamh had disappeared into it.
My pulse quickened. “Niamh,” I called, louder this time.
The forest answered with another low, menacing growl, and the hairs on my neck stood up straight. Lips trembling, I pulled one of my knives free and squeezed the ivory handle, unsure what to do. When trouble came, it was best to hide and stay low. Slowly I turned, searching for vague shapes in the mist, and momentarily I considered calling on the gods to help me face the evil that was out there. Surely this was not one of Niamh’s tricks?
A rattling sound cascaded through the air. My frustration and fear was quickly replaced with action. I ducked as branches descended like arms, weaving through the mist toward me. I brandished my knife, aware I needed an ax or long sword to fend them off. Before they reached me, gnarly roots crept across the ground, undulating like great slippery serpents as they blocked my path. Hisses and growls echoed through the thick underbrush and the mist came alive, reaching for me with gray fingers, stained with black dirt and the putrid scent of decay. Shallow pants crossed my lips as the vale awoke. Thunder boomed in the distance and I knew someone or something was angry. This was the Vale of Monsters, and I’d trespassed.
I opened my mouth to shout for help, but a root shot toward my boots. I jumped and stomped down on top of it. Despite my efforts, the root squirmed. A snapping, breaking sound pulled my attention up. Rotted branches curved toward me, reaching out lifeless arms to embrace me. Ducking, I dashed forward, nearly slipping on dark red moss between the shifting tree roots. I leapt over a patch of moss and avoided the roots with a neat sidestep, a trick I learned during lessons of the blade.
Straining my eyes, I hoped to see a way through the dense fog, but it grew steadily closer and hemmed me in like a hunter closing in on its prey. A twig slapped into my back. My arms wheeled in the air, searching for balance and my knife cut through the fog. A shriek came from in front of me and the mist recoiled. Was it alive? A surge of boldness went through me and I sliced again as my empty hand fumbled for my belt and pulled another knife free. Avoiding the next onslaught of branches, I ran, leaping over roots and cutting through the thick mist as I searched for a way out of the madness.
A low bubble of malicious voices crept up around me, earthy tones, hollow and drunk on dense, evil air. Growls, low and guttural, and sharp high screams as I cut through the mist. It parted before me yet remained heavy, unwilling to show me the way out of the Vale of Monsters. As I ran, questions raced through my mind. Why did Niamh bring me here? Was she fighting her own battle against the monstrous trees? Or had she led me here as a sacrifice to the monsters so that the rest of the wood would be left in peace? I’d heard tales but dismissed them as nothing more than legend. In the old days, evil beings required sacrifices in exchange for peace, but I had not expected to meet one, especially not in the Beluar Woods.
“Help!” I shouted as I ran, although I had slim hope that anyone could find me. My voice returned to me, echoing through the mist until eventually I gave up on that avenue of help. If there were other centaurs in the wood, they were either lost in the mist, or were never there at all. Bile rose in my throat as I thought of what Niamh had led me into, but I was not one to give up easily. I pressed forward, knives first.
Minutes passed like hours until I stopped. Sweat poured down my neck; my red curls lay damp and slack behind my back. My arms ached from fighting through the mist and my feet had begun to tire. The exhaustion of seven days of hard travel was finally catching up with me. Chest heaving, I sucked in deep breaths of the foul air, wondering if I’d run in circles or if I was close to the end of the vale.
The mist, wise to my blades, stayed a few feet away, revealing the snake-like roots that seemed to chase after me. This placed was cursed, I was sure of it. Why hadn’t I listened to my earlier hesitation at entering? Why had I allowed Niamh to bully me and drive me away from the river? An unnamed emotion burned within.
A root slithered toward my ankle and I leapt to one side, but the trees seemed to understand my tactics now, and they were ready. As soon as I moved, gray vines shot up and wrapped around my ankles. Losing my balance, I tumbled forward, gloved hands outstretched to keep from smashing my nose on a fallen log. My fingers scraped against dirt but I caught myself on my elbows, gasping as the impact knocked the breath out of me. I recalled training with the young ones. I’d been knocked down many times, but always the instructor would chant:Get up! As soon as your opponent knocks you down, get up. Before they can keep you down, get up!
Kicking against the pull of the vines, I struggled to my knees. The vine around my ankle yanked, knocking me flat on my belly again. And then it pulled. Discomfort rode up my leg as the vines tightened around me and dragged me backward. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I thrashed, arms outstretched for a tree root to keep me from being dragged farther. This time, the roots evaded me and mist loomed closer. The scent of decay grew stronger down there in the forest floor. I sank my knives into the ground, hoping to regain the upper hand, but my movements were in vain.
The vines dragged me across bramble, ripping my skirt, tearing at the bare skin on my legs and arms. I cried out as the forest took me and quickly raked my brain for options. My training returned to me:When you feel trapped or stuck, use the element of surprise to regain the upper hand.
Surprise. What would surprise the trees? Taking a deep breath, I stilled myself, stopped thrashing, and let the vines take me. They paused. The moment was slight but it was enough. I flung myself on my back and drove my knives straight up at the mist. It evaporated like a whipped dog and a tiny sense of relief went through me. But it was only half the battle. Crunching my stomach muscles together, I maneuvered into a sitting position and sliced at the vines wrapped around my legs. Instead of letting go, they tightened.
Something pinched my skin, like a tiny needle sinking beneath the flesh, and an itch, more annoying than painful, spread out from where the vines touched my skin. The sensation felt like teeth and as the vines tightened, I lost my calm control and kicked, yanking and pulling to escape their clutches. A root swung up and slammed into my chest, knocking me onto my back again. Yelps of frustration escaped my mouth as the vines dragged me onward. My hair caught on twigs and ripped free, forcing me to cry out, and the vines tightened, sending waves of pain up and down my legs. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
One by one, the vines and tree roots wrapped around me, moving up my legs to encircle my waist, and then my arms. My movements were useless as they covered me, until I was stuck, my knives raised above my head as I was half-rolled, half-dragged deeper into the forest.
A thick, veiny root, caked with mud, stretched over my face. It locked into place over my eyes and nose, leaving only stale air to penetrate my cage. I couldn’t move, not even to struggle. How would I escape? I was trapped like a bird in a net, and there was no way for me to fly free. Anxiety fluttered against my ribcage and dark thoughts swirled, overriding the false hope I’d initially felt when starting my quest. Why had the forest risen against me? What was truly in the Vale of Monsters? Where were the trees taking me?
Chapter Six
Time dragged in captivity.A minute passed as slowly as an hour. At times slants of light peeked through the roots and vines, but otherwise it was as dark as night. My lips moved in silent prayer, asking the goddess of the trees—Druantia—to release me from this prison. Imprisonment gave me time to consider my predicament, and my thoughts flickered to Niamh. Had she escaped? Did she face the same fate I did?
Eventually, the air turned warm and stuffy, and the faint scent of smoke flavored the air. My heart stilled. A fire was nearby. Surely the trees would not throw me into it? Wouldn’t they be afraid of burning their bark? There was a reason the centaurs never used fresh wood and fire together. Only dead wood could be used to build a fire, for the centaurs were ever cautious of the cycle of nature, death and life, taking place within the wood. Despite all the decay surrounding it, the trees in the Vale of Monsters were very much alive.
Vivid colors flared as magic pulsed in the core of my being, lighting up my prison as I struggled to escape. Anyone who saw me would have seen what looked like shards of a rainbow shooting out from the cracks between branches. But that was the problem with my magic: it was only colors that displayed when I became emotional. Why didn’t I have magic that could free me from captivity?
The centaurs had told me that there were few with magic, but did not seem surprised when I demonstrated magical abilities, for they said it was in my blood. Epona told me I should use magic with wisdom, but since none of the centaurs had magic, they could not teach me how to use it. Instead, it ebbed and flowed within me, useless. I grew used to it and recognized the shades of magic that flowed, depending on my mental state of mind. A red flame glowed about me when I was worried or upset. When something was wrong—as there had been earlier that morning—a violet light pulsed. A misty gray hovered around my hands when I was angry.
Magic felt like a tiny ball sitting just above my belly, and at times I thought if I focused and concentrated on it, I would understand it. But nothing ever happened and now I accepted the fact that I did not wield great power like gods and goddesses. I was only a human, which was why, with all my magic, I was still wrapped in tree roots, likely being delivered as a sacrifice to a demon in the forest.
All of a sudden, movement stopped. Despite the darkness, my eyes flew open as the roots maneuvered me upright. Heart beating, I waited as one by one the vines loosened and the roots slunk away like snakes, slithering back to their den of secrets. My eyes were the last to be freed, or so I thought until I looked down and saw thick vines still wrapped around my ankles, rooting me to the ground. My arms, which were numb from being upright for so long, hung suspended above my head by the vines. Even though my fists still held my knives, I was unable to move.
I twisted my legs, and the vines tightened. So. I was still a prisoner. Blinking, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and I took in my surroundings as I tried to figure out how to escape. A low, mud-covered roof arched above me, with roots sticking out of it. Some brushed the top of my head and shook dirt into my tangled hair, tickling my scalp. I shook my head to dislodge them, but they did not move.
The cave—or mud house—was wide and spacious. To my right lay a pile of blue-gray furs—wolf pelts, from the looks of them—and to my left was a ring of gray and black stones with blue runes glowing on them. The stones circled a blue-flamed fire, licking up slices of meat that hung over it, juice sizzling into ash, forcing bolts of red to flare up. The blue fire gave off no smoke. I swallowed hard, trying to keep the gnawing sensation of fear out of my blood.
The rest of the cave was swaddled in darkness but I sensed a presence, large and foreboding. Who lived here? Who had such power to command the trees to bring me here? A troll? An ogre? They were known in tales, but not for having magic. My breath hitched as a slew of evil beings entered my imagination. And why me? No one but the centaurs knew I was traveling. This capture couldn’t have anything to do with who I was; I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
