Her jaw locked. So, this kind of creature was toying with her.
“I’d like to applaud and thank you for such entertainment.” She struck a kind chord, its faint shine diluting the dark. “Perhaps there’s a barter to be done?”
The snarl that broke through the darkness sounded like creaking wood. “Bah! Mortals have nothing I’d be interested in seeing.”
“Not even a sign of gratitude?” Trisha asked. “It’s poor manners from the hosts not to accept one.”
She was treading dangerous waters in not knowing who she was interacting with. For all she knew, her offer could offend the spirit. But she’d been charmed to walk endlessly the same route, her eyes heavy, heart bleeding. And this woman had neither time nor stamina. Best to confront the creature and be rid of it. In the worst-case scenario, perhaps the woodland spirit would get mad and charm her into a deep slumber for hundreds of years. Not too bad an idea, come to think of it.
Silence.
She touched her lyre again. It vibrated in her hands, but she didn’t have the energy to wonder about it. Battling the exhaustion, she wrestled control of the magic and threaded the strings with its power. Trisha couldn’t afford its petulance, not her lyre’s noncompliance. She hadn’t missed that she’d gained a response from the spirit after she played. A few idle chords, and a glow like an early dawn above the moors, reminiscent of summer twilight, fractured the dark.
The trees hushed, the boughs swaying though no wind could be felt. She waited. A soft rustle echoed from her left, but she kept her eyes trained ahead as though she hadn’t noticed.
“Don’t stop,” the voice spoke again. It was gnarled and rough. The leaves stuttered, and little bells tinkled, silver and glass.
“Stop what?” Trisha asked, hiding her smile. “Would you like to hear a song, dear sprite?”
Turning in the saddle, she faced the dark forest. Amidst the bushes and still trees, bright blue eyes shone. Her shoulders slumped. Just as she’d thought—a sylvan. Not malevolent by nature. Not a flesh-eater. In her undone dress, knees bare, and her hair tangled down to her waist, at least she stood some chance.
The sylvan hobbled closer. Small and gnarled, with leaves and vines weaving through its torso, it resembled a little bush. Its arms looked like a pair of twisting twigs covered in knotted bark. A web of little sprout-like offshoots grew as its fingers, and pale green fronds on its body rustled as it moved.
“Maybe,” it said with a voice sounding like a tree bending in the wind. “But only if you play a song with even brighter light.” A shimmer of cobalt eyes came through.
“I might,” Trisha said lightly, plucking out a tender chime. “If you release me from your spell and reveal where lies the path I seek.”
The sylvan cackled, and when it did, the trees around them swished.
Dapple bobbed beneath her, flicking his tail.
May I take a bite?he asked.I don’t mind eating this rude, walking cabbage.
Trisha swallowed her laugh. Dapple wasn’t helping, but, by gods, how she loved him.
The sylvan’s face crinkled, a shadow passing across his eyes like clouds darkened the sun. “I don’t like your horse.”
“We’re not talking about my horse. We’re talking about safe passage to the Morrow Path.” She let out another strum on her lyre. A golden glow lightened the gloom like the sun at dawn. “I’ll play a song for you, Sylvan. If you do as I ask.”
The spirit scoffed. “A song from the mortal world? No. That won’t do. What will you bring from there? Death and destruction. Cut saplings, bleeding earth, and the wail of a forest destroyed. The mortal world has nothing I value.”
“Even so, I’d wager there’s beauty and life enough to convince even you that not everything remains as you believe.” She lowered her voice, lacing it with her magic. “There’s the sky and the rain. Worms wiggling in the earth, softening the soil for the roots. The sun to shed its light over all things living.”
Faint mirages shimmered in the air. The last one, a pale imitation of the shining sphere of radiance. The forest heaved, and the trees quivered as though shedding off a dream.
“Sun…” the spirit whispered, something forlorn in its lake-eyes. “Tell me. Does it still plow across the sky? Does it bring the rain, the sweet decay from which all new things are born?”
“I can show you, Sylvan,” said Trisha, idly playing thestrings, “if you show us a safe passage to the path rimmed with morrowflowers.”
The spirit didn’t speak at first. Its attention remained on the summoned sun, its eyes full of yearning. Trisha waited a few moments. At last, the sylvan shook its head. “Very well, mortal. You can play your song.”
Scoffing, Trisha dropped her fingers from the strings. The light died. “No, Sylvan. You’ll only hear it once I stand where I ask: on the path leading to Tilia’s heart-tree.”
The spirit growled. “Bring it back, mortal!” it demanded, gesturing wildly. The forest groaned as the trees leaned in, and the glowing orbs dimmed. “My stalk craves the light. My trees ache for its memory.”
“Only when you do as I ask,” said Trisha. Unyielding, she sat in her saddle, tone firm. If the sylvan sensed her exhaustion, she’d lose all her bargaining power. So, she kept her face expressionless, her stance straight.
If you turn back, I can help you,Trisha’s magic cooed in her ears. She ignored its words.
