28. Strawberry Fields
Strawberry Fields
Prism Malefic
Vore.
Vore.
Vore .
The wither had a name.
The monster could communicate.
“You can speak?” I asked in shock. “Vore,” I repeated. “Vore.”
The wither’s haunting gaze tunneled into mine.
An evil most hadn’t the horror of beholding, and if they did, it was surely the last thing they saw before death.
Though with me… these gruesome features of a killer weren’t a prologue for misery.
He’d protected me, kept me safe, and brought me to some secluded nook of paradise.
I balanced against a tree stump, looking out over the houses, the waterfall cascading over the sharp gray rocky mountains beyond and the river rushing through the village. “What is this place?”
Vore flexed, cocking his head as he crouched across from me. “Home.”
The sound of his voice still shocked me. Deep like amber honey, old like an echo beyond the realms, low like a secret just for me. The sound of him mixed with the height and strength of his body and his fierceness to care for me… it threatened to entrap me forever—willingly.
Stepping forward, I moved closer to him.
Surprise flickered across his vision. A small smile bloomed against my lips.
I supposed a wither wasn’t accustomed to being approached— at least not in a non-threatening way.
He allowed it though, welcomed me, even, and opened his arms slowly, watching me as if I were the most fascinating creature in existence.
“Will you show me your home?” I asked, resting a palm on his arm.
As if I were a robin’s egg, delicate and fragile, Vore scooped me into his arms to carry me down the rest of the way.
What would the other withers think of me?
Had they seen humans before? Trepidation flowed through me as we got closer.
“I don’t know anything about withers,” I admitted nervously.
“Except that you’re big, and terrifying, and do the scary blue smoke thing. ”
Vore huffed something like a laugh. “You have me. I am all you need to know, and I will always keep you safe.”
Leaning into his arms, I couldn’t help but accept the tingly sensations washing over me.
The way his chest and shoulders flexed as he moved, the metallic white scar like a lightning bolt across his mountainous frame, his rich voice mixed with his heady aroma of earth and ether.
Vore was the moment before a storm, the silence under the heavy clouds right before the electricity popped and thunder clapped.
A force of nature, capable of obliterating everything in its path, yet somehow thoughtful enough to hold the tips of his fingers outwards so his claws didn’t prick my skin. How could a creature so deadly be so gentle?
I’d watched him literally rip apart fearcats and crocmares for me—yet he held me with all the tenderness of a dove in one’s palm.
He spoke to me.
He told me his name.
He brought me to his home.
What was home to a legendary monster? I’d always imagined they’d disappeared into shadows, watching and waiting for their next kill.
Not this. Not an oasis, sunshine paradise, hidden deep within the forest. Peeking over Vore’s shoulder, I watched as we traversed a wooden bridge, past houses covered in moss and ivy, some with flowers growing atop their grassy roofs.
We passed them, and I saw no hint of withers.
Crossing a second, longer bridge, Vore brought me to a house made of pale stones, right next to the rush of the waterfall.
The sounds of the water drowned out anything else, its sprays laying host to lush greenery and a rock path leading to a porch.
Vore sat me down on the steps, not venturing inside.
I wondered if he could even fit inside the doorway, which looked to be three sizes too small for him—even though it was tall enough to comfortably fit an above average height man.
It was startling, seeing such a large and fearsome creature standing next to such a mundane but lovely thing.
Perhaps that’s what we looked like next to each other, too.
A shocking contrast of light and dark—kind of like Rumor and me.
My sister was a fearsome monster in her own right.
It was a wonder she hadn’t burnt down the forest yet looking for me.
I hoped she was okay. Remembering the fearcats, the crocmare, and the treacherous terrain…
. I looked out over the utopia we’d reached and the gloomy forest beyond.
The realization of the improbability that anyone would ever reach me…
The dawning that even if I managed to run away, countless obstacles and hungry beasts stood between me and Willowspire…
Would I die here? Was this my final landing?
Why had I been brought here? To live… or to perish?
The truth was, despite any sort of connection I felt with Vore, I didn’t know him or his kind at all.
When withers stole maidens at their wedding rites, what happened to them?
Why did the withers use their blue smoke for Asunder? My moms were taken by the rapture. How could I feel enticed by a monster who could have had a hand in that?
Vore stood to full height and stretched his long arms. Passing me wordlessly, he walked by. “Wait,” I called after him. “You’re leaving me? Where are you going?”
Stopping by the bridge, he rubbed the back of his neck. “This house is yours. My dwelling is with the others. You will find your way. I will see you at nightfall, little one.”
My every impulse was to run after him, hold his finger, and follow wherever he went.
That was silly, though, wasn’t it? Obviously, he wasn’t concerned about my safety here.
The wither had watched me constantly for weeks during our travels, not letting me get beyond a few yards away, and now he’d plopped me in front of a house by a waterfall and left. He knew I couldn’t run away.
I knew I couldn’t run away.
As I watched helplessly, Vore crossed the bridge and followed a rocky path along the outskirts of the quiet town.
His journey led up the sides of the mountain that held the town like a bird’s nest, surrounding us.
Finally, he disappeared into its side. What was in there?
Why did he leave? Was his quest complete, and now he didn’t want anything more to do with me?
My chest tightened at that thought. Maybe my affections were one-sided…
Had I imagined the whole thing? The moments of tenderness and longing stares…
With a sigh, I turned the knob of the house I’d been abandoned at.
It turned with ease—I guessed there was no need for locks here.
A wither could rip the boards apart in minutes if they wanted to.
Bewilderment furrowed my expression as I assessed the home.
Dried flowers hung over a basin in the kitchen, the hearth was cleaned and stacked with dry wood, two rocking chairs sat atop a fearcat skinned rug, and a bed with baby blue linens perched in the corner.
This wasn’t some random abode… this place was decorated and cozy.
Who had done this? Surely not the clawed and fanged beast who’d deposited me here. It reminded me of mine and Rumor’s cottage. Small but well loved and warm. This was all mine?
In the corner, I found a bathtub and pitchers of water with chamomile flowers floating on top.
Without questioning where it came from, I bathed.
The lukewarm water cleansed the dirt and swamp grime from my skin and hair.
I scrubbed until my arms were raw, still feeling the tree slime long after I’d soaked my aching limbs.
When I’d finally compelled myself to get out and wrap in a nearby towel, I discovered a plain, light blue dress on the bed.
Slipping it on, I tied the ribbon at its waist and surveyed myself in a hanging mirror.
My cheeks were pink with sunburn, my blond hair frizzy but clean at least, and my curves hugged in the dress that was half a size too small.
Who had worn this frock before me, and what sort of fate had befallen her?
In the kitchen cupboards, I discovered dried oats and berries, and when I scooped a handful into my mouth, they crunched as if they were freshly made. So bizarre. Was this place enchanted? Did withers possess magic like witches?
Part of me wanted to crawl into this strange bed, hide under the blankets, and pretend this was all just a very bad dream. Even though I knew my nightmare lurked along the mountainside at that very moment.
Would I classify that fact as a comfort or a threat?
I didn’t know the answer.
Despite my weary body, my mind wouldn’t be quiet, and my thoughts raced. I peeked out the window. Something moved within the town.
Something else moved.
I rubbed my eyes, thinking my vision was failing me.
Stepping outside onto the porch, my heart pounded in my chest, and my brain fought to make sense of the hope and confusion that danced in my ribs.
Women carried baskets.
Women chatted by a well.
A woman laughed as she exchanged bread with another.
And then I recognized one of them.
A woman who’d been taken at her wedding rite when I was a baby.
The man was late by thirty minutes, and she’d been whisked away.
Balsom Bleak, her beau, had the witches craft him a painting of her, which he carried everywhere, swearing that someday she would return.
And there she stood, brighter than the faded paints… Fable Woolworth.
Fable had been in my thoughts the morning of my wedding rite.
My feet carried me forward, feeling as if I were chasing after ghosts. As I crossed the bridge, the women in the square stilled, the town hushed, and they all stared at me.
Fable sat down her bucket of water and turned.
I covered my mouth in a gasp.
It couldn’t be. How? The how becoming horrifically obvious as I took her in.
Fable Woolworth rubbed her rounded belly.
She was pregnant.