by Skylar Finn
Her heart feeling lighter than it had for an hour, certain of her victory and pleased with her intelligence for knowing to follow the river, she stumbled through the trees until she saw water. She ran joyfully along its side, allowing it to guide her.
Unfortunately, Gwyneth was running in the wrong direction: away from the bridge and not toward it, deeper into the wilderness instead of out of it.
She noticed after another twenty minutes that the woods only seemed to become denser, and thought she had better turn around. She decided she would run in the other direction, until the tangle of forest started to clear, and then she would know that she was nearly to the bridge.
Just as she turned, Gwyneth saw a series of large stones sunk into the river. On the other side of them was a path. The path was much less unobstructed by rocks and branches, so she crossed the river, jumping from stone to stone. She was careful not to fall into the freezing water. She ran up the path, certain she’d found the way out.
The trees began to thin, and it seemed she was making her way out of the forest for good. Gwyneth was relieved and vowed never to wander into the woods again: never again would she leave the inn’s property to venture beyond the tree line. From then on, she’d always keep the inn within view. It was of these things she thought and nothing else, until she came to a fork in the path. She stopped.
The right-hand path led along the river towards the bridge, and the left-hand path led up a slight rise that disappeared over a hill. How much farther would it be to try and make it to the bridge? Would going up instead lead her out of the woods? Or farther into it?
23
Gwyneth’s Choice
It was here she met the creature.
She didn’t know what else to call it. It stepped into the clearing in front of her, at the place the path forked in two. She couldn’t tell where it had come from; if it had been concealed behind a tree, or simply risen up out of nowhere.
It was quite beautiful, like a deer with many-pointed antlers. It had glowing orange eyes. It had a long, tapered snout like a wolf’s and four long, stick-like legs. It had pupils like a cat and velvet fur. It had many teeth, all of which smiled at her.
She stared at its pointed white teeth, fascinated. Its orange eyes fixed on hers, eyes with an intelligence she had never seen: not in the travelers, nor in the muddy dull eyes of her father, ceaselessly ordering her around.
It tilted its head to regard her.
Now any traveler might have reacted in fear and known this was precisely the sort of thing that lurked in the forests of Mount Hazel. But Gwyneth was young and sweet; she loved animals, as all children do. She viewed it as if it was a very large pet, or an innocent deer. She saw it and felt no fear.
Even when it rose up on its hind legs and was taller than any man, its long neck and body towering above her one the ground, she felt unafraid. She felt certain the beast would not harm her, and in this she was correct.
“Hello,” it said. “Who are you?” Its voice was like the river, running over stones. It was light and beautiful, matching the creature from which it emitted. Because Gwyneth was alone, she didn’t notice that she heard the creature not out loud, but within her own mind.
“My name is Gwyn,” she said, filled with wonder. A talking deer! Who would ever believe her? No one. This would have to be her secret. She could only imagine how many lashings she’d endure at the hands of her father for telling tall tales if she mentioned she’d met a talking deer in the woods.
“Where are you from, Gwyn?” asked the deer. She didn’t know what else to call it. “I don’t often see humans in this part of the woods,” it continued, scratching its head. It seemed confused, which made it seem harmless.
“I live at the inn with my father,” said Gwyneth. “But I seem to have lost my way.”
“The inn!” said the deer. “Why, that’s miles away!”
“Is it really?” asked Gwyneth with despair. “I knew I was far from home, but I thought if I followed the river, I might find my way to the covered bridge and get back to town.”
“That might take hours,” the deer said. “It would be well after dark. You never know who you might meet in the woods along the way. Or what.”
Gwyneth shuddered at the thought. It never occurred to her that the deer might be one of the things in the woods.
“How will I ever get back before the sun sets?” she asked desperately. The sky was rapidly graying as what little light was left seeped from the trees, their canopy making it even darker.
“You can’t,” the deer said gravely. “Unless.” It put a hoof to its chin. “Unless…yes, there might be a way. Very definitely, indeed.”
“What is it?” asked Gwyneth eagerly. And though she read many fairy tales, in the books lent to her by travelers from faraway lands, where children take the wrong path or fall prey to a creature much older and smarter than they, Gwyneth did not associate the deer with any of these things. She thought it was her friend.
“I will give you a stone,” said the deer. “And in this stone will be contained one wish. If you hold it very tightly and wish for home, you will open your eyes and find yourself there.”
Gwyneth’s eyes widened. She’d always imagined there was magic in the world, but never truly believed that it existed.
“Can I wish for anything?” she asked. “Or is it just one wish?”
“Anything?” The deer’s orange eyes widened. “But what would you rather wish for than to be home? And how will you use your wish if you’re lost in the woods?”
Gwyneth bit her lip and thought. This was an excellent point.
“It’s just that I always imagined I would get away someday,” she explained shyly. She’d never said this aloud. “From this town. From the inn. I imagine a man will come and take me away and I’ll have a better life where I never have to do laundry or scrub floors or cook meals.”
“A man?” The deer sighed. “Well, I hate to tell you this, Gwyn, but any man will find a way to make you scrub floors and cook meals. You’ll just be doing it in a different place. I suppose if you birth your young quickly enough, and you have a girl like yourself, you can condition her to cook and clean, and thus remove some of the burden from yourself. But most likely, you will serve for all your life. One man or another. Perhaps it is your father. Perhaps it is your husband. Perhaps it is God.”
“Oh no!” exclaimed Gwyn. “That’s not true at all.” In spite of the darkening woods and the strange creature before her, she felt strangely emboldened.
“It’s not?” The deer sounded amused, as if the notion of her having an opinion greater than its own was charming. “What is the truth, then?”
“My father loves me, though his heart is hard,” Gwen recited the fact from the textbook of her heart. “And my husband will love me even more. And God loves me, and in His Kingdom awaits a place for me in Heaven.”
The deer snorted. “Well, that’s a lovely fantasy, Gwyn,” he said. “But how do you know that it’s true?”
“I know it as surely as I am alive,” said Gwyneth. “Besides, how do I know what you tell me is true?” She’d never met a talking deer, but this one was rather contrary, as far as talking deer went.
“You don’t,” the deer said plainly. “I will never tell you that my words are true. Whereas your father will insist his word is bond, and your husband will insist that you obey, and you will serve God in Heaven as you serve Man on Earth.” The deer shrugged and studied its hoof. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like, who am I to question it?”
“What else would I do?” asked Gwyn, staring at the deer. No one had ever said such things to her. Her mother had not survived childbirth when her brother was stillborn, and she had no sisters. She knew only her father and the word of God. And for her, these things had always been enough.
“Whatever you want,” said the deer. “Why, you could leave this place and travel, like the travelers. You could see all the world. You could have powers beyond reckoning. More power than your father
. More power than any man alive.” The deer paused, his eyes fixed on Gwyneth. It was only then that she noticed how large they were.
“What would I do with them?” she said slowly. “These powers? The road is no place for a girl alone. And the world is a dangerous place.”
“Who told you that?” The deer sounded surprised. “The world is quite lovely. Look at where we are now, isn’t it grand? This place you were told to fear? And what if you could disguise yourself and move as you please? What if you could look however you wanted, whenever it suited you to look that way?”
“How would I do that?” she asked, frowning.
“Why, magic, of course!” The deer gave a shake of its mighty antlers and leaves rained down around them. They burst into flame and vanished just as quickly. “You could do anything that you like. As I do. As we all do.”
“Who’s we?” asked Gwyneth slowly. These things were sounding very good to her, but there was something under the deer’s words that troubled her, something she couldn’t quite place. It was then that she noticed the eyes in the woods: some were silver, some white. Some were yellow, like a fox, or orange, like the deer’s. A single pair blinked in the distance, on the path behind the deer. Its irises were vertical like a snake’s, and they were red.
Gwyneth became nervous for the first time since meeting the deer. How many more of them were out here?
“My friends, of course,” the deer said pleasantly. “Haven’t you any friends?”
“No,” Gwyneth admitted. There weren’t enough children in town to warrant a school, and the only other children—the blacksmith’s daughter and the barkeep’s son—were respectively much older and much younger than she was.
“I have many friends,” said the deer. “And we would like to be your friend as well. We will share what we know, if you will share what you have.”
“But I don’t have anything,” said Gwyneth, confused. Her father did not pay her to help with the inn and she had nothing of value but an old silver filigreed locket, left to her by her mother.
“I’ll make you a deal,” said the deer. “I will give you the stone, and you’ve no obligation to me once you use it. It will never have powers again, and you may return to your life. The life you knew before, the one that you have always known. If, on the other hand, you’d like to return…”
“Back here?” asked Gwyneth. “How would I find it again?”
“Use the stone to wish yourself back here,” said the deer. “If and when you do, I will know. I will appear and teach you the secret of the woods. In exchange, you will bring to me the others like you, and we will make them much the same.”
“What others?” asked Gwyneth.
“The travelers’ daughters,” said the deer. “The blacksmith’s daughter. Sometimes, the travelers themselves. Whoever I ask for, you bring to me. And in exchange, I will grant you powers unrivaled and unimagined.”
Gwyneth cradled the stone in her hand. Powers unrivaled and unimagined? Who wouldn’t want such a thing?
“Okay,” she said. She wasn’t uncertain, or hesitant, or worried in the slightest. Gwyneth was a fairly simple girl, whose fantasies of the perfect husband were easily replaced by the suggestions of a talking deer. She was easily influenced and believed pretty much whatever she was told, regardless of the source. “I’ll come back.”
The deer smiled again. This time, all its sharp, pointed white teeth were revealed.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he hissed.
As the girl clenched the stone in her hand and closed her eyes, willing herself home, the surrounding woods fell away and the darkness lightened as she opened her eyes, and she found herself on the hill behind the inn. She rushed down the incline and toward the back door. If she hurried, no one would ever realize she’d been lost.
In the clearing, the deer smiled. His soft velvet fur fell away, then his skin, revealing his true form. He receded from the clearing, into the darkness with the other eyes, and disappeared from sight.
24
The Blacksmith’s Daughter
Gwyneth let herself into the back door of the inn after what felt like hours wandering through the woods. Yet strangely, no time seemed to have passed at all. The sky was lighter outside than it had been when she had left, and her father had not even missed her.
Gwyneth set about her chores, fulfilling her tasks dutifully as she always did.
At the back of her mind, the deer’s offer sat. What if she really could go anywhere, and do anything?
It wasn’t that she necessarily believed the deer. What did it know? It lived in the woods and ate berries and things. It probably didn’t have a deer-wife or a deer-mother. She felt sorry for it, living in the woods with no family that way. No wonder it wanted to befriend her.
The magical powers had intrigued her, however. Maybe she could conjure a second version of herself, another Gwyneth to run the inn and care for her father while she, the real Gwyneth, traveled the world. Maybe she could even see the ocean. She’d seen pictures of it, but had never seen a bigger body of water than the river.
What had the deer asked in return? That she bring people to it, occasionally? The deer must be really very lonely in the woods, if it wanted all these friends.
Gwyneth could scarcely wait to collect her magical powers. She waited till her father and the inn’s only lodger, a hunter traveling north in search of game, were fast asleep. Then she wished herself into the woods. It would be dark, she knew, but the deer would be there. It would make sure that nothing bad happened to her. She clutched the stone in her hand and thought of the forest.
The room around her faded from view. She sat on the forest floor. A pair of orange eyes was the only light in the woods. She watched as the eyes came closer.
“I see you’ve decided to accept my offer,” said the deer.
Gwyneth was uncertain. It sounded like a transaction of some kind, one she hadn’t realized she was making.
“I just have to bring other people back here with me, right?” she said slowly.
“Certainly,” said the deer. “That’s all. Hardly anything, really.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. “I’ll do it.”
“Very good!” said the deer. It came closer to her. For the first time, it looked less like a deer and more like something else, something she’d never seen before. For the first time, she felt afraid.
“Close your eyes,” it said.
When Gwyneth left the woods, she was herself and not herself. It was hard to discern the difference as she was largely the same in appearance, but her eyes seemed wider and darker, her hair longer and more lustrous. She hadn’t grown an inch, but appeared to somehow gain in stature.
The hunter watched her from the window, curious at first what the girl was doing out so late. He felt certain her father did not know where she was. But as she grew closer to the house, he found that he could not look away from her. He couldn’t clearly define to himself why and as she rounded the building and disappeared from view, he shook himself from his stupor. She was a child, no less a child than she’d been that afternoon.
However, he found himself unable to shake the notion that there was something special about the girl. Instead of leaving the inn that morning and resuming his travels as he’d initially planned, he paid for another week.
The hunter watched as the inn, previously a remote outpost not particularly well-known outside the region, began to fill with travelers. They seemed to come from nowhere, appearing in the morning and filling the dining room at night. They brought their families: wives and daughters and small babes.
The hunter could not seem to get a straight answer from anyone about what they were doing there or where they had come from. Some claimed to be on vacation; others claimed they were seeking new land. He began to watch the woods religiously at night from the window in his room. Where once only the innkeeper’s daughter snuck out, she was now followed by half a dozen other girls. They disappeared late at
night as everyone slept. They returned at dawn when the first light broke through the trees, traipsing from the woods with their hair wild and the hems of their dresses muddy. One night, he decided to follow them.
They were harder to track than a fox. There were so many of them, it should have been easy, and he saw no reason for them to move as quickly and as silently as they did. It was as if their feet scarcely touched the ground. More than once, he felt certain they knew he was following them. He’d duck behind a tree, frozen, and wait till it seemed safe again, when they were nearly out of sight and he had only the sound of their voices to lead him forward.
Eventually they emerged in a clearing at the fork of a path. They formed a circle, and the hunter watched from the shrubs with puzzled trepidation. They were silent, but they all held hands. It looked like they were playing a game of some kind, but they played it with deadly seriousness.
It was then that the hunter heard the crashing of branches and the breaking of sticks, as if something very large and heavy was moving through the woods towards them. He looked wildly about for the source of the sound, but could see no apparent reason for it. Whatever it was seemed invisible.
The girls looked up simultaneously at the center of their circle. They looked up with rapture, as if they saw something beautiful. They watched, listening to something he could neither hear nor see.
All at once, their heads turned in unison to the place the hunter hid. It was as if something told them he was there. He was frozen to the spot, unable to process what was happening. It was impossible.
They glided across the forest floor, and he could see now their feet didn’t touch the ground: only the tips of their toes, dragging across the mud towards him. They were upon him before he could even move. They reformed their circle.
He stepped out from behind the bush. He could not define the fear that he felt. There was no explanation for it. These were mere girls, practically children. Babes in the woods. Out of bed and out of bounds, playing games in the woods without anyone’s knowledge or consent, breaking every rule imaginable.