Hush, the woods are darker still

by L. V Russell

  Laphaniel huffed, unconvinced. “I would rather you stay where I can see you, Teya, judging by past experiences.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, the teasing words on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. Laphaniel stood tense, head tilted to listen, eyes following the movements above us. It wasn’t the time for jokes.

  “What’s following us?”

  “Nothing worth worrying about yet,” he answered, glancing at me with black eyes. “Cait Siths are trailing the shadows above us. Likely hoping something bigger will come along and kill us, leaving them to devour our souls. Lazy creatures.”

  One sleek black creature leapt down from the branches, landing without a sound at my feet. It sat in front of me, the size of a beagle, its wide green eyes unblinking. I stepped back, and it rose, slinking around my legs.

  Flame licked at Laphaniel’s fingertips, and the Cait Sith turned, hissing. With a flick of his wrist, Laphaniel sent sparks at the creature, and it darted back into the treetops.

  “They have sharp claws and a nasty bite,” Laphaniel explained, as I scanned above us. “But Cait Siths will rarely take on larger prey. They prefer to wait.”

  “Will they keep following us?”

  “They deem us most likely to provide them with a meal, so yes.”

  I caught sight of the lean bodies slipping through the trees, soundless, and graceful. The knowledge they wouldn’t harm us didn’t reassure me, given they were waiting for something else to bring us down.

  Sweeping blossom trailed down from one of the thinner trees as we walked on, seemingly untouched by the passing season. Birdsong filled the air, high and quick. Vivid red flowers bloomed over the black branches, petals so downy soft they left glittering scarlet dust on my fingertips.

  “Don’t do that,” Laphaniel snapped, knocking my hand away.

  I jerked back. “Is it poisonous?”

  “Lucky for you, it’s not,” he replied, exasperated. “It’s blood.”

  I frantically wiped my hand over my jeans, glancing up at the tree with a shudder. The blossom at the top gleamed black, curved petals wet with droplets that gathered like dew. Blood dripped onto the flowers beneath. Like a rose bush, thorns covered the stalks, needle-sharp. The noises I had mistaken for birdsong were not birds at all, but flittering creatures impaled upon the thorns. Iridescent wings beat helplessly while the flowers drank them dry.

  “It’s a vampire tree,” I gasped, my eyes darting to the hollow husks of long-dead faeries, mouths all agape in a final helpless cry. Webbing covered their mouths, left behind by scavengers that had come after death.

  Laphaniel gave a humourless laugh. “I have never heard it called that before. Perhaps you will finally learn to stop poking everything.”

  I grimaced. “I really do try; I have curious fingers.” I waggled them in front of him, earning a real laugh. He grabbed my hands and yanked me into a quick embrace.

  “I don’t want you to change, Teya,” he said, his mouth at my ear.

  “I think I am, slowly.” I pulled back, touching my forehead to his. “And so are you. I’m not afraid like I used to be. I know what it is I want, and I will fight for it. This world is making me grow up, and I think I needed to.”

  “Have I changed?” Laphaniel asked, black eyes narrowing. “How?”

  He sounded so outraged I snorted, but all humour slipped away as I said, “You no longer find amusement in my pain.”

  Laphaniel said nothing for a moment, even the Cait Siths above us stilled, listening. “Tormenting you, entertained me in a way I had almost forgotten. I enjoyed the way you jerked away from me, how your eyes filled with anger, then with tears. Then I made you smile, really smile, and I heard you laugh.”

  The further we walked, the darker it became until the sky above glowed a sullen violet. The little sunlight filtered down in silvery pools, striking the edges of stone jutting up from the ground.

  Fragments of buildings stood amongst the stone. They were not in ruins, but all perfectly built, just not finished. Like they had been forgotten. We passed a complete fireplace with nothing surrounding it; smoke curled up from the chimney, but the grate remained cold and unlit. A blue painted door stood perfectly on its own, brass letterbox polished to a high shine. Hundreds of black tulips surrounded the door, unmoved by the chilly breeze passing through. A carved stained-glass window cast rainbows over the ivy-strewn floor. A gravestone stood beside it, bearing no name. A wishing well brimming with ancient coin, sat next to a child’s playhouse, complete with gingham curtains and dolls with no faces.

  “Dreams and nightmares,” Laphaniel whispered beside me. “Wishes and forgotten things.”

  I stepped over a lost-looking teddy bear, a chill creeping down my spine. “Can we move on?”

  Laphaniel took my hand, quickening his step as the dolls turned their heads to watch us pass. “Gladly.”

  A sudden, piercing cry shattered the quiet. We ducked as the noise disturbed a nest of inky birds above us. The birds screeched, swooping low in a swarm of black. Wings beat against the back of my head, claws tangling in my hair. Another echoing cry sent the birds to the skies, cawing their fury.

  “What was that?” I shook feathers from my hair and plucked them from Laphaniel’s.

  “I have no idea.” He turned one feather around in his fingers. “Nor do I care. Just keep walking.”

  Another scream ripped through the woods, then another. Terrified. Helpless. I paused, glancing back. Laphaniel tugged me on, but the sound roused something very human deep within me…an instinct I couldn’t ignore.

  “It’s likely a banshee,” Laphaniel hissed, sensing my struggle. “Or a wisp or a phooka wanting to lure gullible prey like you to their death. Ignore it.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” I asked, cringing at the screams.

  Laphaniel spun, furious. “Then it is their misfortune and not ours. They get to die beneath these forsaken trees and not us. Move.”

  “What if you had ignored me?”

  A snarl slipped past his lips. “Move. Now.”

  He clicked his fingers for me to follow, and I gave him a withering look, taking three steps before I heard a cry that stopped me dead.

  “Mummy!” it cried, sounding heartbreakingly young. “Please, Mummy!”

  Laphaniel grabbed my wrist, and I made to protest, to fight him. He swore through gritted teeth, dragging me towards the terrified cries. “Damn it, Teya!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  We raced through the trees, following the cries that had subdued into helpless sobs. Laphaniel cursed under his breath, his grip on my wrist relentless. He let me go as we came to a stop by a gnarled, blackened tree. It stood away from the others, the ground beneath dry and dead. Its branches were bare as if winter had already stripped it back. Spindly limbs curled upwards, broken and weeping boughs that swayed in the wind.

  From where I stood, I could just see the makings of an enormous nest, a crude thing of black twigs and dripping moss. It reeked of rot.

  “Harpies,” Laphaniel said, sighing. He pressed a foot against one of the lower branches; it creaked but didn’t snap.

  Something crunched under my foot, and I looked down to the ground, littered with bones, all picked clean and forgotten in the yellowing grass. “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know,” Laphaniel answered, placing a finger to his lips. “But I doubt they’ve gone far.”

  We looked up at the sound of a muffled sob, the nest suddenly tilting as someone scrambled to the edge. A little girl peered over, wide eyes meeting mine, and for one terrible moment, I thought she was going to topple over. I held my hands out, silently signalling for her to stay still.

  The nest jostled again, this time under Laphaniel’s weight as he climbed up with the quick grace of a mountain cat. The little girl cried out, pitching against the edge, dislodging clumps of wood and dead things, so they plummeted to the ground.

  “Keep still.” I heard Laphaniel hiss, making the girl jump and
cry out again. She looked no older than six. I remembered my first meeting with Laphaniel and how afraid I had been; he had looked significantly less feral back then too.

  “You’re scaring her,” I hissed back, hoping he could reach her before the nest crashed to the ground.

  “My brother…” she whimpered, and I could see her point to a corner of the nest.

  “Your brother is dead,” Laphaniel said, impatient. “Come here.”

  “I don’t want to leave him,” she sobbed, and I winced as her cries echoed.

  “Then stay here. I’m not risking my neck for a corpse.”

  More twigs fell to the earth as Laphaniel backed away, one hand tight on the branch above him. The girl scrambled forwards, foot breaking through the bottom of the nest.

  “Don’t move,” Laphaniel ordered, reaching forwards. The nest creaked when he touched it. The branches holding it up creaked too. “Keep still, or we’re both going to fall.”

  The girl let out a choked, petrified sob.

  “Maybe less honesty, Laphaniel!” I called from the ground, desperately wanting them down.

  Laphaniel swung away from the nest, balancing upon a branch that groaned from beneath him. “I’m going to count to three, and you’re going to jump to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “One.”

  The girl didn’t move, Laphaniel took a step down.

  “Two.”

  She shifted, her little body shaking with her sobs. Laphaniel climbed further down, he peered up and shrugged his shoulders. She lunged to the edge as he disappeared from her view, and more of the nest disintegrated from beneath her.

  I choked on my cry when she fell forwards, toppling over the ruined pieces of the nest, straight into Laphaniel’s waiting arms.

  He pulled her close, arms tight around her. “Three.”

  Laphaniel balanced on the branch, finding his footing. He climbed down slowly, the boughs he stood on groaning with the extra weight. I didn’t take a breath until they were both firmly on the ground.

  “Thank you,” I breathed.

  He shifted the girl in his arms, keeping her against him as she clung tight to his neck. She looked up at me, brown eyes wide and terrified, standing out against her too-pale skin. Matted hair stuck to her face, so coated in dirt and blood, it was impossible to tell what colour it should have been.

  I made to take her hand, recoiling when she lifted the mess of her own. Something had chewed her fingers right to the bone.

  “We’re going to help you,” I began, forcing my eyes away from her ruined fingers. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Alice.” The word fell past chapped lips in barely a whisper.

  “We need to get out of here,” Laphaniel said, glancing at the remnants of the nest. “Before the harpies come back and realise something is missing…”

  High shrieks cut him off, and we both snapped our heads up to search the skies. Alice squirmed in Laphaniel’s arms; a low keening sound slipped from her mouth.

  We swore, and Laphaniel backed away, motioning me to follow. We ducked into a dense path of low trees, the ground tilting ever so slightly to form a small hollow. Shadows cascaded over us.

  “We’re too close,” I whispered, pressing my back against the slope.

  “I know,” Laphaniel answered helplessly. “but if we run with the girl, they will catch us.”

  I helped lower Alice to the ground, my heart somewhere in my throat. With trembling hands, I sought out hers, the one left whole, and squeezed. Alice squeezed back with surprising strength.

  We crouched in the hollow, peering through gaps in the branches as the thrashing of wings drew nearer. I pressed close to Laphaniel, wrapping an arm around Alice to hold her against me.

  Together we stayed huddled, watching three winged creatures alight upon the blackened tree. They screeched and cawed at finding their nest empty and ruined.

  “Thieves!” one called out, the word hissing through a long, dark beak. “Which one of you greedy maggots thieved my meat?”

  It stood larger than the others, and they cowered as it loomed over them. Its beak clicked close to their faces, curved and wicked. Another screech erupted as it threw back its black, avian head.

  “It was not me, sister mine,” squawked the smallest harpy, keeping its head low so matted hair fell over its drooping breasts. “Why would Nessa steal? Why, sister mine, when she is still so full of the boy child?”

  Laphaniel moved his hand over Alice’s mouth, silencing her cry.

  “So, you blame me, do you?” spat the third, stretching her wings out and snapping them back with a furious cracking sound. “It was not I who stole her, you mouldering hag. She likely fell, horrible thing that she was. Good old Arla only took her fingers. Nibbled them down to nothing, she did. Oh, and so juicy they was, the only thing worth chomping on, they was. Skinny little brat she was!”

  The harpies cackled, the sound carrying over to the hollow where we huddled. Alice’s head rested upon my shoulder, her breathing hitched and shallow. Hopeless tears travelled in silence down her cheeks.

  Laphaniel tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped it around what was left of her hand; he caught my eye and gave me a tiny shake of his head. I held Alice tighter.

  “I reckon some creeper creeped along and stole her away.” The harpies sniggered in the treetop. We tensed in the hollow, barely daring to breathe. “Took her away as she lay broken on the ground, sisters mine.”

  “Dirty, thieving creeps,” one cackled. “Toss these bones and make room for more.”

  Branches snapped, and any withered leaves still clinging to them tumbled to the ground. The harpies flung their wings out and took to the skies with a scream of delight.

  The smallest circled back, kicking the ruined nest with clawed feet. Twigs and moss and sludge slopped to the ground, along with the thud of something heavier.

  Thankfully, Laphaniel had the good sense to force Alice’s face away as the picked remains of her brother lay shattered amongst the dead leaves.

  “I can see you creeping.”

  Alice’s scream tore through the hollow. The largest harpy alighted just above where we hid, her strangely human neck twisting over us. She hadn’t made a sound.

  Instantly, Laphaniel was in front of me, shielding us. With Alice in my arms, I scrambled back. The harpy watched, amusement glinting in her black eyes.

  The other two creatures landed in absolute silence, their beaks clicking a breath away from my face. Rancid breath blew hot against my cheek, turning my stomach.

  “We do love rotting meat, don’t we, sisters mine?”

  “Tastes all the sweeter for it, it does,” the smallest replied, outstretching a wing to run a talon down my face. “You are a little too fresh, little creeper.”

  Flame flickered at Laphaniel’s fingers, wavering and small. He tried again, but nothing appeared.

  The harpy lunged, a shriek of laughter bursting from her beak. Claws scraped over Laphaniel’s face, forcing him down. Talons shot towards me, splaying out to clutch at the tattered clothing of Alice. I held tight, twisting the girl in my arms. Claws raked along my back, shredding the fabric of my hoodie.

  Blindly, I thrust my hand out, grabbing a fistful of feathers. I yanked the smallest harpy from the air, my fingers digging into its damp body. It shrieked at me, beak clamping tight around my arm.

  My hand went for its throat, fighting it off. I shoved its head to the side, the bones crunching under my fingers. It went limp, beak sagging open to release my arm.

  Blood trickled over my hand, my fingers sticky with gore.

  I snapped its neck. Without trying.

  Outraged screams drowned everything else out. I fought the urge to throw up, bile rising in my throat.

  Fire bloomed within Laphaniel’s hand, real and angry. I watched in horror as he threw himself at the largest harpy, pinning her down as whatever greasy substance coated her feathers went up in flames.

  “Oh, more for me,
sisters mine!” squawked the last harpy, shoving off from the ground with Alice dangling from her claws. “More for Arla, sisters gone!”

  “Laphaniel!”

  He looked up from the still smouldering remains, wavering slightly when he stood. Alice thrashed in the harpy’s grip, unbalancing the creature as it struggled to remain airborne.

  It pitched sideways, slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch and a burst of red. We both ran as Alice, and the harpy plummeted to the ground, the little girl’s scream swallowed up by the harpy’s piercing cries.

  Laphaniel snatched Alice from the air, stumbling with the momentum to crash against the ground. They rolled together, neither moving when they slammed to a stop.

  The harpy struck the ground with a dry thud, bones cracking on impact. She did not get up again.

  I skidded to a stop beside Laphaniel, who lay on his back, breathing heavily. Alice lay sprawled over his chest, her good hand clenched tight around the fabric of Laphaniel’s hoodie, her knuckles white.

  “Are you hurt?” I dropped to my knees, scanning both. “Laphaniel?”

  “I sincerely hope this isn’t becoming a habit,” he said, panting.

  “What?”

  He lifted a hand and gestured to me and then Alice, who still clung to him like a limpet. “Risking my neck for human girls.”

  I allowed myself a small smile, relief making me lightheaded. “Thank you.”

  “You killed one,” he said, sitting up. Pride filled his voice. “I saw you yank it from the air.”

  I shuddered at the memory. “I think their bones are hollow, just like a bird.”

  “I want to go home,” Alice whimpered. “I want my mummy.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked Laphaniel, noting the high spots of red on Alice’s cheeks, standing bright against her pallor.

  Laphaniel stood with Alice still in his arms. He spoke in a hushed whisper, so quiet I barely heard him. “We can’t take her home. We don’t know where she lives. Even if we did, we would never find the path back to Unseelie again.”