21. Chapter Twenty-One
William
Branches creaked and cracked. Darkness fell, an inky black to absorb all life.
William and Nicholas held one other, their pulses mirrored.
Their death would be in darkness, mercifully unseen, albeit heard as the forest breathed around them.
The trees laughed, an eerie sound to chill the soul. Then all went silent.
He dared not to breathe. His lungs ached, wishing to expand, choosing to risk death rather than the eldritch beast’s malice.
Pale blue light passed through forest leaves, but those leaves did not hang from the branches.
They warped beneath the call of a darker and ancient entity, fluttering above their head where a great eye formed, then another, and another, and another, until hundreds of beady eyes coated in grime and worms gazed upon them.
From the soil, little white hands no larger than a child’s sprouted and wiggled.
Their thin fingers slithered through the dirt to wrap around his ankles.
Their chill seeped through his clothes, a cold like death.
Normally, he would fight against them, tear those hands from the person and the soil.
However, even he understood they were part of a beast unlike any other.
He need not learn more about The One Who Waits to comprehend that it was beyond anything, that perhaps even Fearworn would have trembled under its many watchful eyes.
“Trespassers,” the eyes spoke all at once. Their voices were many carried as one, causing the forest to shake.
He didn’t comprehend what he looked upon, if any of it was real or a fabrication, an illusion from the forest itself. His thoughts lurched, grappling for answers that weren’t there. Every moment he drifted further into madness.
“We do not trespass of our own volition. None would dare go against The One Who Waits,” Nicholas said impassively, then gave the slightest tilt of his lips, taunting in a way. “And yet, someone has.”
He put a painful squeeze on Nicholas’ chest, not much different from the ghostly hands. Their nails, coated in dirt, pinched the skin, threatening to draw blood.
The last path they should take was to piss off what had caught them. Nicholas held firm to the one eye above them, the biggest one blinding to gaze upon.
“Nicholas, son of Laurent Darkmoon, Fearworn’s successor,” The One Who Waits laughed, if an eldritch beast could laugh. The ground shook and branches creaked. Soil and bugs rained upon them, then all went still once more. “Are you arrogant enough to try to trick me?”
“No, but I am arrogant enough to ask you to set us free,” Nicholas replied, keeping passive.
Nicholas’ eyes took on a faint fuchsia hue as they had once been.
The calmness dared to spur another sense of hope that this meant Nicholas could be spared from following Fearworn’s destructive path.
Like a wound on the battlefield, if William could cauterize it, snip out the infection before it took hold, then Nicholas may have a better life.
He would have laughed at his own thoughts that consistently toiled with this possibility, but he hadn’t the energy to do more than stand there and pray to whatever may be listening to spare them.
“None have left my woods. None will,” said the beast.
The pale hands descended. William sank. The soil went soft, dragging them lower, lower.
Mud pooled into his boots, weighing heavier than stone.
He struggled to no avail. The hands held tighter and tighter, ripping fabric and drawing blood.
Nicholas’ grip on him tightened. He didn’t meet William’s eyes, but he wasn’t panicking.
He spoke without speaking, telling William to remain as calm as he could, so he took breaths, slow and deep.
“I hunger. So long it has been since one such as yourself crossed my woods,” The One Who Waits growled. “Why should I deny myself fresh meat?”
“Because you would have killed us already if that is truly what you wanted.” Nicholas had a confidence about him, unwavering even as the forest consumed them up to their knees.
Bugs slithered beneath their clothes. William shut his mouth when a spider crawled across his cheek. He dared not shake it off, worried The One Who Waits would react to the movement.
“Something is wrong in Faerie, isn’t it?” Nicholas asked. “You, out of all of us, must know this. You sense it as I do, and if it is enough to worry you, it should worry all of us.”
He couldn’t sense what Nicholas and The One Who Waits did.
He hadn’t seen outside The Lost Woods, which was worse than he could have imagined, but he wouldn’t expect anything to be wrong with Faerie.
It was twisted, as he had been told Faerie would be, but not what he perceived to be wrong.
However, Nicholas said something to convince the forest because the hands stopped tugging.
Those pale fingers paused at their waists, still as the dead.
“We’ve come to Faerie with a purpose,” Nicholas explained. “We’re searching for shadowed disciples once belonging to Fearworn’s ranks. We believe they are at fault. When we find them, we will put an end to their schemes, whatever they may be.”
“If you find them,” The One Who Waits countered. “If you can end what they have begun.”
“Do you know what they are doing?”
The One Who Waits blinked its many eyes, casting them in momentary darkness. “They are corruption. They are rotten. They are wrong and they will break all we have ever known.”
“We can stand against them,” Nicholas said sternly. “You need not leave your forest or fear your forest abandoning you. Free us and we will do the work for you.”
The One Who Waits breathed, its leaves shuddering beneath a corrosive breath that tasted of metallic waste. “And if you fail?” asked the beast.
Nicholas hesitated, his confidence wavered. He looked at William, who couldn’t imagine another way out. They were at the whims of the beast unless Nicholas lost control. In that case, it may end even worse.
The One Who Waits yearned to strike a deal. William didn’t need to ask what it wanted should they fail, but Nicholas wanted his permission. With no other options, he nodded.
“Should we fail, you will have your feast upon what is left of us,” said Nicholas.
“And your allies,” said the beast.
He jerked without meaning to. The hands clawed up to his abdomen. The forest groaned in warning. Nicholas shivered in his arms. William held tighter, hoping to ease him. They were buried up to their chests and Nicholas couldn’t bring himself to look down, realizing they were being slowly buried.
“Our allies?” Nicholas repeated at last.
“The ones who search outside my borders. Three of them, a fae and two mortals. I want them, too. After all, if you fail, Faerie may fall. I should like a good meal before then.” The One Who Waits laughed, that same guttural sound of utter horror.
William’s lungs constricted. Henry, The One Who Waits would take Henry, too. He knew he should have forced Henry to stay, no matter what that meant. He should have told Nicholas to enchant him, send him back to the estate and kept him there.
“It is unfair to make a deal when the entire party isn’t here to agree,” Nicholas countered.
“How unfortunate for them. Make your choice.”
The One Who Waits wasn’t as patient as its name implied.
The hands yanked. Their nails scraped against William’s cheeks.
His blood stained their fingertips, causing them to shake, like they hadn’t been fed in ages.
Goose feathers broke out across Nicholas’ arms. Though higher, the fae panicked from the earth, threatening to devour them.
The promise of a burial he so feared urged him to shout, “Fine! Should we fail, you will have all of us. Now, release us.”
The ground spat them out like spoiled fruit.
Branches snapped loose to curl toward them, tightening around their limbs.
Then The One Who Waits vanished as they were yanked through the forest. Leaves cut into William’s cheeks.
The air whistled in his ears. His world became a blur of colors interrupted only by The One Who Waits’ laughter, ominous and promising.
He fell onto smooth grass, peering up at a cloudless blue sky. The air tasted of wildflowers and sun. His empty hand shifted through the grass, fingers shaking the longer he went without finding Nicholas until their fingers caught.
They survived, but at what cost…
“How did you know that would work?” His body ached, but he wanted to get away, far from The Lost Woods and The One Who Waits. He thought he had been prepared for Faerie. He was entirely wrong.
Sitting up, he faced the edge of the forest where the trees spread far apart, wide enough for any to foolishly step through, unaware of what fate awaited them.
Even he, who had seen the monsters within, dared to think how beautiful it was, how it would be so nice to take a walk beneath its shade.
The forest had an air about it that made one’s senses slacken.
“I didn’t.” Nicholas cracked his neck. “I hoped it would work and we are lucky it did. We’ve made history, in fact.”
“I don’t care about that. I care about never setting foot in there again.” And making sure Henry would never end in there. He tugged Nicholas onto his feet so they could run or rather jog.
Neither had caught up to the present, their bodies sluggish. The more distance he put between himself and The Lost Woods, the better he felt.
“Are you upset?” asked Nicholas. “About the deal I struck.”
“No. We wouldn’t have made it out alive and, if we fail, we’ll all be dead, anyway. You did great, Nicholas.” Although he wasn’t certain which death would be worse.
Nicholas kissed his cheek. His face warmed. He slowed to a stop, feeling somehow childish and excited to say, “You missed.”
“Did I?” Nicholas had a beautiful laugh that he wanted to hear for the rest of their lives. “Let me fix my mistake.” Nicholas kissed him slowly, leaving them both breathless. “Was that better, my wicked?”
“Much better, trouble.”
“There they are,” Evera called. She was little more than a spot in his vision coming over the hillside. Henry shuffled along beside her and Charmaine laid spent on her back.
“You’re alright!” Henry hurried forward.
Nicholas let go to let William meet his brother.
Henry caught him in a hug, where a salt scent affronted him.
Henry laughed at his curled nose. “That smell must be from the river. We had an unpleasant run in with a group of sirens, but we’re alright, as you seem to be. ”
“As good as we can be,” he replied hesitantly, then inspected Charmaine. She hung listlessly on Evera’s back, but her eyes were open and present. “What happened?”
“Shimmer sickness,” she groaned. “I can walk—”
“She can’t,” Evera cut in. “Unless we want to crawl our way to wherever we’re going.” She glanced over William’s shoulder toward The Lost Woods. Her eyes narrowed. “Where did you two come from, exactly?”
Nicholas laughed. “You won’t believe it.” Then he deflated. “And you may be a tad upset.”