I drew breath and slithered my free hand deep into rotten mud. I shivered as I brushed against dead things. There was no life here, never had been. The trees had never known the soft caress of their own leaves. They had existed for a thousand years and would exist for a thousand more, but they had never lived. Pain swept sharply through me, from the heart of this forsaken land into mine.
I bit back a sob and delved deeper into the reeking mud. Deep down sprawled the darkness, far and wide. I no longer feared that darkness, nor the monster that lived in its depths.
With the weight of the still-warm pebble in my palm, I stepped through the veil. Magic trickled warmly through my veins. I gathered it in my shaking hands like a warm, golden light. The earth sang as life flooded its withered veins.
The thorns released me with a sigh. I drew air into my aching lungs. Adrik’s mouth hung open in a silent scream. His hands were like a vice around my ankle, the knuckles white as snow, his face dark as night. The earth shuddered and cracked. From the fissures burst roots eager to protect me, thorns keen to restrain Adrik. They coiled around his thighs and chest, curled around his arms and yanked him with a hiss off me. He did not attempt to fight, too great was his terror, his fear.
Hefearedme.
I reeled back the magic, soothed it.Gentle, I urged. The roots trembled and withdrew a sliver, sprawling like a birdcage around him. A thorn, as sharp and long as a handknife, lingered at his throat.
A twig snapped in the thicket. A hollow cackle slithered over me like ice. “Hello, little bird,” cooed the lordling. A flash of tar-black hair between the stems, too quick for me to follow. “Oh, how long, little bird, how long it has been. Come home. Come home to me!”
I shuddered, sick and stunned with terror. A flash of red from the thorns. He was playing with me. Just to remind me that I belonged to him—like the stars belonged to the moon, like the waves belonged to the river. These were the words he had whispered to me that night in the dark, ten winters ago. These were the words that still clung to me like the rotten touch of his hand—
Through the thicket, I caught a glimpse of black rope, snow-white curls and sun-gold silk. I muffled a sob and edged closer to the treeline.
Zora stirred, raised her gaze. I sobbed with relief. She was smiling. She was smiling as our eyes met. Hers were dark, glinting like coals. The withered shrub around her burned, then the rope. Still, she smiled.
A shiver came over me. It was a hollow thing, that smile. A wicked thing. An echo of another… I realized a moment too late what it meant. A flame burst alive in her palm and it came—
It came for me.
I leaped aside, landing in the bramble. A flicker of scorching heat flashed past me, hissing in my ear and missing me by a breath. The flame tangled with the twigs. It cackled and crackled as it devoured the bone-dry wood; as it neared me, ensnared in the thicket.
Another flame danced in Zora’s palm.
I flung a sliver of my magic at her. The wind stole her fire, roots caught her wrists—they turned to ash against her smoldering skin. A flame climbed the twisting branch near me and licked at my fingers.
The water… That murky, rotten water. I sent a thread of magic into its depths, full of dead things. Its sigh went through me like a tremble. At last, warmth. At last, life. I beckoned the tide near. With a flick of the wrist, I commanded it to wash over the blazing thicket, retching as it coated me with slime and mud. Zora shrieked in fury as the water rose around her, drenching her and stealing the flame at the tip of her fingers. It stole the fire in her eyes, too.
“Ah,” cooed the lordling. “You have learned well, little bird.”
On a withered branch perched a crow with eyes like drops of blood. I let vines burst from the ground to snare him, but he was too quick. He made a chirping sound and was a bird no more. He was a wildcat, leaping nimbly to the ground. My thrashing roots missed him by a hair. Another glint of red, so very near. I bracedfor a strike that did not come. He was a bear, then a wolf, then an owl.
He was the many-faced faerie of the swamp, and I had no chance of catching him.
A roar of pain sharpened my blurred thoughts. I twisted in the thicket. Adrik hung limply in the cage I’d woven for him. The lordling loomed with a shrieking cackle over him, smiling as he lifted his long, bony foot. Adrik’s arm, slack in its socket, snapped with a crack.
Oh.
I blinked once, sharply awake.
Oh, but the lordling would regretthat.
I laughed as rage cut through me like a knife. I planted my feet furiously into the festering mud and I fired my magic like arrows into the earth, deeper and deeper. I’d draw the heat from the center of the earth to kill him if I must. I’d let the stars rain from the skies to scorch him. I’d let oceans sweep across the land to drown him.
I reached the lowest end of the longest root. At the bottom sprawled the darkness, far and wide. I did not fear that darkness.
Soft things bloomed in the light. But the darkness… The darkness was not dead. It teemed with wild and beautiful things meant for those alone who dared to venture into the night.
I did not step through the dark.
I steppedintoit.
I did not embrace it.
Ibecameit.
