21. Snared
Snared
Prism Malefic
“Ew, don’t sit me down here!” I shrieked.
The wither let out an annoyed sound as he surveyed the expansive bog before us.
He dipped a toe in, and a dead fish floated, belly-up, to the top of the murky green water.
We’d traveled for an additional three nights, and our routine was much the same.
He’d carry me and feed me whatever fruits, vegetables, or mushrooms we harvested on our way.
Then, we’d find a water source and I would bathe, the wither would peek like a very not gentleman, we’d drink, and then set up camp after walking a while longer.
Where were we going?
I imagined Willowspire was far behind us at this point. There’d been no signs of Birch, the Viper brothers, or my sister.
My mind told me they were searching for me, to not give up hope.
My heart oscillated between contrary emotions.
Somehow, each morning I woke up with both a sense of disappointment and relief that no one had found me yet.
My psyche warred within me at the glances and gentle touch of such a terrible creature.
A wither shouldn’t have made my cheeks flush and my belly twist with secret desire.
The line of his broad, huge shoulders shouldn’t have filled me with more attraction than Birch’s gangly build ever did.
These were all feelings I’d never felt, a situation I’d never navigated. I’d never expected to leave Willowspire. I’d never imagined a reality where I didn’t have Rumor to guide my every move. Yet, here I was… and the feeling was… both liberating and confusing.
Pointing to his chest, me, and then the bank across the bog, the wither gestured back and forth with his black claw.
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t care if that’s where you want to go. I am not getting into swampy, stinky water.”
A puff of frustration left his throat, and despite my protests, he sat me down on an arched tree root. Crossing my arms, I avoided the slime on the side of the tree. “This is so gross,” I whined.
The wither narrowed his eyes and shook his head, as if lamenting the girl he’d stolen.
A small giggle emanated from my lips at his expression as he tried to figure out how to move me without getting me wet.
He waded into the swamp, his inky skin camouflaging him within the dark, swampy depths.
Walking out, he stood and extended his arms, showing me that his feet touched the bottom.
Trudging back, he picked me up by my waist and hoisted me into the air.
Yelping and squirming my displeasure, he sat me on his shoulders like a parent does a toddler.
“I hate this.” I grumbled, holding onto his forehead as he sloshed into the swamp.
“There better be a field of bunnies and sunflowers on the other side of this bog, I swear to goddess.”
A small chuckle rumbled from my monster as he waded in further.
“And a warm bath,” I added. “And baskets of strawberries and all the supplies I need to bake a pie.”
We reached the center of the swamp, and I pulled up my dress and wrapped myself around the wither’s thick neck to avoid touching the water.
The smell of rotting plants and dead fish burned into my nose and I coughed at its strength.
I clutched his forehead tighter as he took another wide step and suddenly paused.
“Why’d we stop? Come on, get me out of here,” I begged, but the wither stood frozen.
Something splashed in the distance.
“What was that?” I asked, as if he would respond.
“You didn’t tell me there were scary things in here!
” I held onto his big head tightly. “That’s because you don’t tell me anything, but you definitely understand everything I say.
Why don’t you say anything back? I don’t even know your name. Do you have a name?”
It wasn’t the time to be asking questions to the monster holding me captive in the middle of a swamp. Especially as something long and scaled twisted through the murk, heading right towards us.
“Oh, no, no, no,” I whined. “Is that a—is that a crocmare? My matri told us the worst stories about them. They have four rows of teeth!”
A groan vibrated from the wither’s throat, and he widened his stance and stared down the creature as it swam toward us. Faster and faster it swam until, at the last moment, the wither dodged, pulling us just out of reach of its wide bite.
The crocmare clamped down on swamp water and disappeared beneath the bog as the wither stomped forward, faster now. Looking over my shoulder, I let out a scream as the creature catapulted from the murk, mouth open wide and lunging towards me.
Dodging again, the wither grabbed my ribs and lifted me high over his head as I screamed.
The crocmare circled him. My monster jerked his chin, motioning toward the sky.
Above me was a branch from a gnarly tree that stretched over the far side of the bog.
Slime squished between my fingers as I grabbed it and hoisted a leg over the side.
Just then, the crocmare emerged, clamping its maw around the wither’s extended arm and pulling him down. My monster let out a roar that rippled a tide across the bog, still glancing up at me to make sure I got safely onto the tree before he let go.
I let out a scream at the sight of the horrific crocmare’s bite locked around my wither’s arm. The croc reared back and pulled the wither under. Panic seized my chest, and my lungs burned from screaming.
He can’t be dead, he can’t be.
Several heartbeats passed, too many heartbeats. I held my breath, wondering how long it would take with no air to drown. This seemed like too long. How would I make it out of here alone?
I didn’t want to make it out of here alone.
Another scream wrenched from my throat.
Then, all of a sudden, a massive inky black monster burst from the swamp. Breathing heavily, he looked up at me and pulled his hand from the swamp. I’d never been so relieved to see both a wither and a long, toothy broken jaw of a crocmare.
“You’re okay,” I breathed in relief.
Giving a short nod, the wither gestured down the tree, instructing me to follow it to the back. He sloshed under me as I crawled, my knees slipping in slime. It was okay, I didn’t care. I could handle slime and stink. What I couldn’t handle was losing him.
What a startling realization that was.
Reaching the tree’s trunk, I made to ease down when my heel slipped.
I fell forward, and no quicker did I flinch, expecting the harsh impact of ground, my wither caught me with one arm, scooping me into his wet and bloodied embrace.
He quickly set me down, stepping back and attempting to dry himself of the mud and mire that caked his massive frame.
My heart softened more than it should have.
This monster, this being, had ensured my safety above his own.
He’d taken a crocmare’s teeth willingly just to make sure I could crawl to safety.
Now, his worry was that he’d dirty me or I’d find him repugnant?
Interrupting his wiping off the dirt and blood, I stepped closer and wrapped my hands around his hips, burying my face in his lower belly.
Goddess, he was tall.
How could an average human man ever compare to the safety I felt just standing beneath this wither that, for some reason, would risk life and limb for me?
Birch wouldn’t even walk to our wedding day.
The jaw of the crocmare dropped to the soggy earth with a thud as the wither picked me up by my waist and brought me to his chest for a hug.
Our first hug. Maybe he didn’t talk, but I felt something, some sort of emotional connection that was built on actions and care, not words and promises or even engagements and weddings.
I thought I wanted those things so badly.
My wedding rite. A man. The farm and an ordinary, predictable life in Willowspire. It would have gotten Rumor off my back and allowed her a reprieve from caring for me. My mothers would have been proud of me for fulfilling my duty to the town and the magic that binds it.
Those things were the right choices.
So why did none of them make me feel the way I felt that moment, dirtied and dusted, in the arms of a monster?
My embrace wrapped around the neck of a killer that hunted us, stole women from my town, and sent their blue fog to do Asunder’s bidding.
Blue fog that took my mothers… Yet, somehow, this wither felt better than Birch, safer than Rumor, and more liberating than Willowspire.
Had the exhaustion and swamp water gone to my head? It must have. These thoughts weren’t rational. I needed sleep, and a bath, and a meal I didn’t have to pick bugs off of.
At our next cave or campsite, I’d rest. I’d prioritize getting my mind back into working order, because clearly something was wrong with me to be having these thoughts.
As the wither pulled back, he held me close and stomped over the muddy bank. When he reached the top, he watched my expression closely as he extended an arm, gesturing to the scene before us.
Rolling grassy hills lead into waves of corn and pastures. In the far distance was a majestic waterfall, casting a rainbow as a river flowed through the center of the land. Along the river were…
“Houses?” I asked. “Is this some neighboring town?”
I’d heard of my matri’s town by the ocean, Night Gale.
And ladies from Willowspire had mentioned Boar’s Hallow and Moon Ramble.
Though this place looked like an oasis, somehow.
A place untouched by Asunder’s ire. I gasped then, as I spotted two giant figures emerging from caves that cradled the town.
Withers.
“Is this… your home?”
The monster continued to study my expression and tilted his chin in a nod. Though the withers in the distance instinctively struck me with fear, I also realized they could be no worse than the one who held me, right? It wasn’t anything I’d expected.
I gripped the neck of my monster. “Looks like a place a girl could find a bath, so, let’s go.” I pasted on a hesitant smile.
Before stepping down and beginning our trek from the swamp and into idyllic scenery inhabited by twelve-foot monsters, the wither paused, catching my gaze.
His eyes softened, and he brought a hand to his chest, just over the white slash of his scar. I waited in patient confusion before my heart pounded in my chest at what came next.
With a deep, ancient tone, controlled and wise, the wither spoke. “My name is Vore.”