19. Chapter Nineteen
Nicholas
Nicholas held William’s hand, then his feet fell out from under him. Light and noise overwhelmed his senses. Worlds beyond worlds passed before his eyes, sights of green seas, orange skies, and fields of ash. Then, through it all, the tug of home, of Faerie.
They hadn’t strayed far from the path. He imagined himself in the sunflower field with William by his side.
They bathed in sunlight, slept atop the petals between the stalks, bathing in the other’s warmth.
Then he couldn’t see, blinded by a bright light, and he crashed against a hard surface.
His limbs ached, but he clutched William’s hand, warm, twitching, alive.
A thin coat of sweat coated his body. He tasted the saltiness of it on his lips.
“William,” he rasped. “Are you injured?”
No one answered.
Coughing, he rolled onto his knees. His vision returned in splotches; the world interrupted by brief intervals of black.
Between that black were spots of gold, William’s hair, then his flushed cheeks.
He ran his knuckles along William’s temples.
Those spring eyes fluttered open. William leaned against him, chest rising and falling sporadically, then slowly.
“What happened?” William whispered while licking his lips.
“The scar took us on an unexpected adventure.” And he hadn’t discovered where that adventure led them yet.
They laid bunched up like dirty laundry in the corner.
Branches hung low, their leaves a pale blue and bark an off gray.
They stained the ground so beautifully, perfectly still that time itself felt unfurled around them.
The woods made no sound, no birds sang, or breeze whispered through the branches.
It was as if the forest had died eons ago and what stood had frozen on its last dying breath.
Worry settled, followed by fear upon realizing where they had landed, the only place they could be.
“The Lost Woods,” he whispered, and the woods echoed them. He kept a hand on William, fearful the ground may swallow them if only to preserve its silence. Then he pushed aside grass and leaves to find no stones. Fear coiled in his gut. “We’re not on the path.”
“Your tone says that doesn’t bode well for us,” said William, still catching his breath.
“It does not. Once you lose your way, The Lost Woods take you forever, if you are lucky.”
“And if you’re unlucky?”
He whispered so the woods may not hear the words. “You feed The One Who Waits.”
The forest trembled as if it were a living being, its heart racing at the name of its master.
“What’s that?” William asked, sounding as fearful as he should be.
“A sleepless entity. One that rules these woods, always has. Even my father doesn’t dare tread off the path, rarely dares to take it, in fact.”
Nicholas certainly never had and never planned to.
Mortals feared monsters in the closet or under the bed.
Fae feared the entities so ancient they lost their true names, forgotten even to themselves.
Laurent saw the first mountains formed, but these creations were before them, had become them, became the land itself and did what they wanted according to rules none knew save them.
The Lost Woods weaved itself through Faerie.
Only one path had ever been laid. Dozens of tales explained why or who had done so.
Some tales claimed The One Who Waits laid the path itself to lure fae through the woods, letting them believe they could escape.
Then it would trick them off the path for an easy meal.
Others believed the first fae battled The One Who Waits and locked it away in the woods, leaving a path to find their way and defend against the entity, should it ever try to escape.
He didn’t care about either. He cared about getting them out of there alive, no matter the cost. None had ever done so.
He knew of a few fools who dared the forest in stupid attempts to prove themselves.
They never returned, and some used the forest as a burial ground.
If a fae got on the wrong side of another, it wasn’t entirely unusual for them to be thrown into the forest, where they would disappear forever.
However, between the terror, he sensed something else. Faerie felt wrong. He couldn’t explain why other than calling the thought a gut feeling. A scent carried in the air of decay, brought in by a silent breeze.
“Then I suggest we get a move on. I imagine the longer we’re here, the more likely we are to run into this creature.” William rose, thus releasing his hand. William inspected their surroundings that were nothing more than tall trees and a ground covered in leaves.
“Yes, we should do that.” He chose not to mention the stories. They had to attempt an escape. He would rip the trees from their roots and battle The One Who Waits if it meant sparing William.
He reached for William’s hand again, the silver one. William stuck his hand in his pocket.
“We must stick together. The forest will not treat us kindly,” he explained. He didn’t trust the gnawing feeling at the bottom of his gut, either. The Lost Woods had an eerie atmosphere, but there was something else there that he couldn’t decipher.
William shambled to his opposite side and held his hand. He kept any comments to himself. William so hated that silver arm and he wasn’t sure how to change that, or if he ever could.
“We should keep speaking to a minimum as well. It likely knows we’re here, but just in case,” he added, and William nodded.
Hand in hand, they set off in search of the path or an escape, whichever would reveal itself first. Leaves crunched beneath William’s boots. He flinched at every noise. The crunching echoed, swirling around them, hissing through the trees. William tiptoed, doing little to help.
“Get on my back,” Nicholas offered and kneeled. “No arguing. We must be quiet.”
William didn’t argue, but he glared and Nicholas swore he heard every argument William could ever give.
He didn’t want to be carried out of the forest. He worried Nicholas would grow tired.
He never wanted to be a burden, but Nicholas didn’t see him as one.
He deserved protection and care, which Nicholas could give and wanted to.
William’s chest fell against Nicholas’ back, his warmth foreign and familiar.
Nicholas wanted nothing more than to bask in the sensation of William being so close, feeling William’s breath on his nape and his thighs caught beneath Nicholas’ fingers.
It was wondrous, like a dream that he played over a thousand times since their separation.
He bit the inside of his cheek and kept moving, searching this way and that.
The trees spanned for an eternity, perfectly situated in diagonal lines, and yet led nowhere.
At least nothing had been led to them. There were no birds upon the branches, rabbits in the bushes, or insects crawling through the rotting leaves. They were entirely alone.
As he walked, William’s breathing grew heavier. His grip tightened, then twitched. Nicholas cast a worried glance. William peered into the forest, between the trees, recognizing something Nicholas did not see.
“William,” he whispered, but his voice did nothing to steady William’s frantic breaths. They became erratic, his sweat so heavy that his hair turned dark. He pressed a hand against Nicholas’ back and squirmed. Something was very wrong, and it affected William rather than him.
“William, take a breath.” He kept a firm hold on the man, but William kept squirming, then kicking, and finally slipped free.
Nicholas caught his silver hand and knew William was too lost to realize where they were because he didn’t so much as flinch. The medic swayed like he was drunk, pointing, then shaking, then stepping away.
“You’re dead. You’re all dead.” William’s eyes swerved from left to right, as if they were surrounded.
“You’re hallucinating,” he said.
The forest’s magic toyed with William far more than him. An aroma sweeter than honey filled his nostrils, and he imagined it rattled William’s head.
“You deserved it. You were monsters! I’m not the monster!
I’m not… I can’t be…” William’s voice echoed through the trees, unbelievably loud in the forest’s reticence.
He tore free from Nicholas to run his fingers through his hair, then tear at it.
“No, no, not me. Not me. I was scared. It was wrong. I know. I’m sorry! ”
He caught William by the elbow, wanting to relax him, but did the opposite. William caught sight of him, of his eyes, and a fear like no other overtook him. Expression blanched, William shoved him off and ran into the forest.
“Wait, fuck, William!” He lurched after William, the poor man losing himself completely to the forest.
William’s panted breath sounded like the trees themselves grasping out for them. His figure grew smaller and smaller, making Nicholas feel like he stood still. The Lost Woods wanted to steal William, to keep him forever. He wouldn’t let that happen.
He fell to his knees, fingers shoved in the dirt.
Roots breached the soil. They fought against his demands, too stubborn to bend to another.
The power within surged, scratching through his center.
He forced his will into the earth itself until it melded to his desires.
A dozen roots wrapped around William’s ankles.
He dropped, then was dragged, as much as Nicholas hated to do so.
William slid to a stop, his nails clawing helplessly at the soil.
“Get away. You’re dead. You’re dead!” William broke out in a cold sweat when Nicholas laid a hand on his arm. William didn’t see him. He saw Fearworn, clawing at him fruitlessly, trying to protect his arm. “It’s mine. You can’t have it.”