by Kara Jaynes
Laying stretched out on the floor, using her cloak for a blanket, Isabelle watched the fire as it flickered and danced over the blackened wood. Was it foolish to offer help when others have tried and failed? Would she get in the way of the Fabled Hunters efforts? She didn’t know, and was worried what the answer might be, but she’d also promised Fawn that she’d try. She couldn’t do any less.
6
She couldn’t breathe. Isabelle struggled to move as darkness crept over her, freezing her body. Something evil lurked nearby, but what, she couldn’t tell.
“Help me,” she pleaded. “Someone, help.”
A low growl sounded behind her. At the noise, Isabelle was able to move and spun around. Ash crouched low to the ground, her lips peeled back in a feral snarl.
“Ash?” Isabelle said. The wolf sprang, dispelling the shadow.
“Isabelle!” Someone was shaking her. “Isabelle, wake up. Please, wake up!”
Rolling over and sitting, Isabelle blinked. Her eyes felt like they had sand in them. It was still dark, dawn barely peeking through the windowpanes.
Fawn crouched next to her, face wet with tears. “She’s gone, Isabelle, she’s gone. She was sleeping right next to me. I should have woken if she moved!”
Fawn. Elsie. The memories of the previous day came crashing back and Isabelle leaped to her feet, snatching up her bow and quiver. “She can’t have gone far. I’ll start searching immediately.”
“I’ll come with you,” Fawn said, and Isabelle shook her head.
“You need to stay here in case Elsie comes back.”
The older woman hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Please,” she begged, “bring my daughter back.”
Flinging the front door open, Isabelle ran out, nearly tripping over Ash. The wolf stood before her, gray hackles raised and a low growl rumbling deep in her chest. Her ears lay back against her head.
“Ash, someone’s taken Elsie.” Isabelle slung her quiver over her shoulder. “Can you track her?”
Lowering her head, Ash sniffed the ground, walking past Isabelle up to the door. Fawn stood on the threshold, arms crossed, anxiously looking on. Ash turned and hurried around to the back of the house, her nose low to the ground. Reaching the area under Fawn’s bedroom window, Ash’s entire frame stiffened as she smelled the ground. She lifted her head, growling. She turned, trotting toward the northern side of the village.
Isabelle pursued, having to lift her skirts a little as she hurried to keep up.
Ash had caught a scent that she now followed relentlessly, her nose almost touching the ground. The scent led them into the forest where their progress was considerably slowed without a trail to travel on. Ash kept pausing for Isabelle to catch up, impatience showing in her eyes and stance. They needed to hurry.
The wolf moved into a long legged lope. Isabelle ran through the brush, trying to keep up, heart pounding in her chest as she tried to push away the dread that crept up on her. Just when Isabelle felt like her legs might give out, Ash skidded to a halt. Isabelle almost fell over her trying to stop.
They stood at the edge of a small clearing in the woods. The grass was neatly trimmed and a small garden was off to the side. But what really caught Isabelle’s attention was the cottage standing exactly in the center of the glade.
The house was made of gingerbread.
Isabelle stared. That couldn’t be right, but she could smell it. The roof looked like it was tiled with slices of gumdrops and the house’s trim appeared to be meticulously piped-on frosting. The windows were melted sugar panes. Large shiny slabs of candy rock led up to the cottage, blues, pinks, and greens, not the right colors for normal stone.
A low growl still rumbled in Ash’s chest, her gaze locked on the strange sight before them. Could Elsie be here?
The glaze covered door opened, and Isabelle tensed, one hand reaching toward her quiver.
She relaxed and almost laughed at herself when a little old lady appeared. Not at all what she’d expected.
“Can I help you?” the old woman asked, fixing her beady eyes on Isabelle.
Ash continued to growl, the rumbling in her chest growing louder. She crouched, ready to spring.
“Yes, er, maybe.” Isabelle laid a warning hand on Ash’s back. “Easy, girl.”
Ash glanced at her, clearly disgusted, but why? “I’m looking for a little girl, about this height.” Isabelle held a hand to her waist, indicating Elsie’s short stature. “Have you seen her?”
“Yes, I have, actually.” The old woman’s face creased into wrinkles as she smiled. “Poor thing was scared out of her wits when I found her. Come in, come in, I’ll take you to her. Dinner will be ready soon, and I think I’ve found the bones that’ll flavor it.”
She turned and hobbled inside. Isabelle followed her, shutting the door in Ash’s face. The wolf began howling, her claws scratching the door. Isabelle felt a prickle of unease. Why was Ash behaving so?
She turned around in the small hallway and jumped when she came face to face with the smiling old woman. She held a frail arm out, indicating a door at the end of the hall. “Guests first.”
Isabelle looked around. The house looked normal from the inside. She moved forward, opening the door and walking into the kitchen. It looked the same as any other kitchen: tiled floor, white plaster walls, and large fireplace, a cauldron bubbling over it.
The only difference was the small child bound hand and foot to a chair.
“Elsie!” Isabelle rushed forward, pulling her knife from her belt. She quickly cut through the rope. “Elsie, what happened? Are you hurt?”
Elsie didn't respond, her face slack with horror as she looked at something behind Isabelle’s shoulder.
Isabelle reacted instinctively. Grabbing the child, she threw herself to the ground, Elsie underneath her. She heard a woosh of air as a meat cleaver slammed into the chair back, quivering with the impact.
Leaping to her feet, Isabelle hauled the girl upright and propelled her toward the door. “Run!”
The old woman rushed at Isabelle, leathery face drawn back in a snarl. “I’ll teach you to interfere with my dinner!” She held a large butcher knife and collided with Isabelle, thrusting it toward her face.
Isabelle grabbed the woman by the wrist, the knife inches from her nose. The old lady was incredibly strong and Isabelle’s arms shook with effort trying to keep the knife from slicing her open.
“You’ll fit in my soup pot nicely, my dear,” the crone panted, her eyes shining with triumph, “once I cut you down to size.” She cackled.
Isabelle could have screamed. A witch. How could she have missed it?
A rapid clicking of claws on hardwood grew near and, with a growl, Ash appeared, snapping at the witch. The woman pulled her knife away from Isabelle’s face and swiped at the wolf. “Back, back! Or I’ll put you in my cauldron, too!”
Isabelle ran, Ash on her heels. She needed to find Elsie and get away—fast. The witch snarled and Isabelle knew they were being pursued. She clutched her dagger. If she had to, she’d use it, but finding Elsie and making sure she was safe was her first priority.
Bursting out the front door, Isabelle bumped into a man. Screaming, she brandished her dagger and jabbed it toward the stranger.
“Easy!” The man grabbed her wrist and, with a twist, propelled her away from him. She fell hard on her rear.
The man spun toward the witch, who scuttled back inside with a startled squeak. She tried to shut the door but the man wedged his foot between the door and the frame and forced his way inside. Isabelle then recognized him. He was the Hunter she’d talked to the day before. Several other Fabled Hunters appeared from the woods, running to assist him.
Isabelle rose to her feet, her legs trembling. She’d almost been cut apart by a witch and now she’d tangled herself with the Hunters again. It was high time to get out of here.
Ash trotted up to her, Elsie straddled across her back, little fingers clutching her fur.
Isab
elle knelt down, hugging Ash around the neck. “Sorry for not listening, Ash. I almost got us killed.”
Ash responded by licking her face, her tail wagging slowly.
“Are you okay?” Isabelle asked Elsie.
The child nodded, sliding off Ash. “I want my momma.” Her lips wobbled.
Isabelle looked toward the cottage, uncertain of what to do. A moment later the tall Hunter strode through the door, pausing to wipe blood off the blade of his sword. He looked at Isabelle and walked over to her.
“Well, she won’t be eating any more children,” he said. His gaze softened when it fell on Elsie. “Good thing you came when you did, or this one might not be with us.”
Isabelle lifted her chin, looking him in the eyes. “It’s thanks to the wolf that little Elsie is alive. She tracked the child here.”
“That’s strange.” The man rubbed his chin, considering Isabelle’s words. “The village leader mentioned they’d used hounds to track the children and weren’t able to. Why would the wolf succeed where the hounds failed?”
“I don’t know,” Isabelle admitted. She patted the wolf’s head. Ash stared at the Hunter, golden eyes unblinking.
“Hmmm,” the man still looked puzzled, but dropped the matter when one of the other Hunters ducked through the doorway. “It’s done, Tyro,” he said. “The witch is dead.”
“Good,” Tyro said. “Tell the others to torch the place. We don’t want to take any chances with her.”
Placing a protective arm around Elsie, Isabelle turned to the woods. “Let’s get you get back to your mother.”
“Stay,” Tyro’s voice rang out. “You’ll both have a proper escort back to the village.”
Within a few minutes the remaining Hunters had emerged from the cottage and the house burned, it’s enchanted walls sizzling as the bread blackened and burnt. Elsie covered her nose and Isabelle coughed, her eyes watering from the smell.
Half of the Hunters stayed behind to make sure the fire didn’t spread to the forest, while Tyro and the rest returned to the village. Fawn was overjoyed to see Elsie, hugging and kissing her repeatedly. Isabelle felt a twinge of homesickness watching the two of them. She missed her family.
“So what brings you here, Isabelle?”
Isabelle jumped, startled. Tyro was watching her expectantly. “Just seeking my fortune,” Isabelle replied. “Don’t most young people do that?”
“Most young men,” Tyro smirked. “Young woman usually marry, or, failing that, pursue a proper education or line of work.”
Isabelle felt her face flush with embarrassment and anger. She clenched her fists. “Maybe this young woman wanted something different.” Her mother had wanted her to marry a rich man, and hang love. Isabelle knew that wasn’t an option.
It was Tyro’s turn to look embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled self-consciously. “Sorry, my comment was out of line.” He jerked his head toward the woods, in the direction the witch had lived. “You and your canine companion were quick thinkers back there. We only arrived in time because Fawn came to us in a panic. We were able to track you.”
Isabelle nodded, feeling awkward. “Glad I was able to help.” She turned away. “I need to move on.”
“You should think about going to the city, Illyminatym. This is the first year in many that the king is allowing commoners a chance to become Fabled Hunters.”
“You think I’m a commoner?” Isabelle sniffed, even though she was.
Tyro raised an eyebrow. “There isn’t a female noble out there who’d go toe-to-toe with a witch. You’re a commoner. That’s a good thing, in this case.”
“Thanks.” Isabelle shrugged. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the tournament though.” She turned and walked toward Ash.
“Think on it, Isabelle,” Tyro called after her. “You’ve got the grit.”
Ash trotted over to her, and together the two entered the forest.
7
Isabelle ran, her skirt hiked up to her knees, nearly keeping pace with Ash. They were doomed. They were going to die.
“Leave me,” she panted, hardly able to get the words out. “Save yourself, Ash.”
The wolf didn’t respond, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she ran, tail held between her legs.
Trees, bushes, and foliage were ripped apart as the giant pursued them. For every step he took, Isabelle had to take ten. The only reason she was still alive was that the giant’s lumbering steps were slow, the trees impeding his speed.
Isabelle snatched an arrow from her quiver. “Maybe I can—” She tripped, her bow spinning out of her hand to land several yards away.
Ash turned around sharply and charged the giant with a howl, snapping at his ankles. The giant roared, and swung a massive arm down, sending Ash flying several yards to land in a crumpled heap.
“No!” Isabelle flung herself toward her bow, her fingers closing around the smooth wood. She rolled over, laying on her back. The giant raised his foot to stomp—
Music came, the golden notes rippling through the trees. The giant paused, his huge nose wrinkled in puzzlement as he slowly turned his head, trying to locate the source. The music continued and the giant yawned, reaching his massive arms above his head in a long stretch.
Isabelle scrambled away as the giant dropped to his knees and lay down—taking a couple of trees out with his fall—and cradled his head in a crooked arm. A rumbling snort escaped his lips. He was asleep.
“How in the—” Isabelle tensed, cutting her words off mid-sentence when a young man stepped from the foliage a few yards behind the giant.
He held a small golden harp, his fingers deftly moving over the strings. The melody continued as he walked over to her, carefully skirting the giant. “Come with me.” He jerked his head, motioning back the way he’d come. “The giant won’t sleep forever.” He grinned. “Quickly, now.”
Isabelle complied, hastily picking up the arrows she’s inadvertently scattered when she fell. Ash stood, shaking her head groggily, and made her way over to Isabelle on tottering legs.
The three stole away from the giant, the young man still playing his harp. He was tall, with bright red hair that stuck out in the back. He had brilliant green eyes that at the moment looked ahead as he strode purposely forward. A light smattering of freckles dotted his straight nose and he had a firm jawline. He noticed Isabelle watching him and smiled.
That smile. Isabelle stumbled and the man grabbed her arm, steadying her. “Careful,” he laughed, his eyes twinkling. He resumed playing his harp, pale fingers dancing across the golden strings. Also known as a bard harp or lyre, it was made for travel.
Isabelle watched the ground, hoping he didn't notice her red stained cheeks.
Ash trotted beside her and the man eyed her curiously. “A wolf, eh? Some say they’re bad luck.”
“She’s my friend,” Isabelle said, frowning up at him. “Ash comes with me.”
The red-headed stranger clicked his tongue. “I didn’t say I thought she was bad luck. As long as she doesn’t bite me, a wolf’s fine by me.” He smiled at her again, and Isabelle felt her insides warm. “The name’s Jack.”
“I-Isabelle.”
Jack’s smile deepened, and if her face felt warm before, it was on fire now.
The young man looked away, giving Isabelle a moment to regain her composure. “The giant will wake within the hour,” he said. “I know of a place we can hide in the meantime. I’m not sure he has the brains to remember what happened, but you can’t be too careful around a giant.”
Isabelle looked over at Ash. The wolf seemed at ease for the most part, only occasionally glancing behind them.
Within half an hour Jack found the spot he’d mentioned; a large, hollowed-out oak. Jack helped her into its trunk, just enough room for them to sit next to each other, their shoulders pressed together. Ash settled down at the base outside, resting her chin on her front paws.
“I stayed here last night,” Jack declared. He pat
ted the smooth floor. “I think someone or something lived here before. It feels lived in. Glad I found it. You and your wolf friend passed by here earlier. Good thing or I wouldn’t have been around when the giant attacked.”
“You followed me?” Isabelle shifted under his stare.
Jack chuckled, shrugging awkwardly. “Yeah, maybe. Only because I was curious. Not many people travel these forests.” He watched her, his narrow face close to hers. “Why are you out here? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Oh.” Isabelle turned, running a finger down her bowstring. “My family’s fallen on hard times. I left home to ease their burden.” She didn’t see any reason to mention the butcher. She suppressed the urge to shudder.
“I see.” Jack was quiet for a moment as he carefully wrapped a worn out cloth around his harp before stowing in its case. “There wasn’t a local seamstress who would take you on? A weaver, maybe?”
“None I was willing to work for.” It was an effort to keep the stiffness from her voice. “I hate sewing. And I don’t weave.” She hugged her bow close. “I … shoot.”
“Archery?” Jack eyed her appreciatively. “That’s not a skill most women can boast of. Good on you.”
“Thanks,” Isabelle murmured. She felt the knot of nerves in her stomach loosen a little. “You’d be the first to think that way, except for my father.”
“Sounds like a smart man.” Jack winked at her. “What about your mother?”
Isabelle looked away, the knot in her stomach returning.
“Ah.” Jack chuckled ruefully, rubbing his freckled nose. “Wrong question to ask.”
“What about you?” Isabelle asked. “Why are you here? In the forest, I mean.”
“I’m on a quest.” Jack leaned against the interior of the hollow trunk, lacing his fingers behind his head. “To become a Fabled Hunter.” A distant roar sounded and Jack paused, tilting his head to the side as he listened. “Sounds like he remembers us.” He flashed a grin and Isabelle swallowed, feeling her pulse quicken. He was too handsome by half.