Concerned Parents Vs. The Cursed Forest
“You shouldn’t wear the armor, Kit,” Kit mocked as their sword swung through the air.
“It hampers your movement, Kit.” They raised their arm to block the lunging ghost wolf. Its mouth clamped down on their arm, its teeth unable to penetrate the heavy metal. They shook their arm until the wolf’s body collided with a tree. It dropped to the ground, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
“You can’t see with the helmet on, Kit.” Another wolf lunged at them and Kit kicked it straight in the ribs. For a moment, their foot met solid flesh, then it faded away as the ghost disappeared.
“I said your name one time!” Rick protested as he warded off his own lupine pursuer with a two-pronged rod that spewed red electricity.
“The rest were implied!”
“Is this really the right time to argue?” Brendon asked with a grimace as he waved a torch through the air, keeping two more wolves at bay. His back pressed against Rick’s for full circle defense.
“Since the wolves prove I’m right and Rick is wrong, yes, this is the time for it.” Kit finished dispatching the circle around them and lumbered over, clanking with every step.
The last few wolves that had been harassing Rick and Brendon yelped and ran away, conceding ground to the larger, louder monster in their midst.
Kit shouted in triumph, then promptly tripped over an arching root. Their arms pinwheeled wildly in the air, and Rick and Brendon each grabbed one to hold them up. In the end, the armor’s weight was too much for them, and all three collapsed in a bruised heap on the forest floor.
Rick groaned. “We are too old for adventures.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m doing great,” Kit replied, pushing themself up with immense effort. They panted and tried to wipe the sweat from their brow, only for their gauntlet to clank awkwardly against the helmet. “I can … do this … all day.”
A howl in the distance warned them that the wolves had found reinforcements.
“But maybe we should move on.”
Heavy armor was not easy to run in. Kit couldn’t even hope to keep up with Rick and Brendon, who had to slow down and double back multiple times to prevent losing each other.
“Just dump the armor!” Rick yelled after the sixth time.
“Nooo I need it!”
“Bullshit. Neither Brendon or I have it, and we’re just fine!”
“But what if the next monster is bigger?”
“How are you going to fight it if you’re exhausted from lugging that shit around?”
“He’s right,” Brendon said. “You’ll be forced to sit on the sidelines, watching as we either fail or triumph without you.”
Kit slowed to a stop. “Dammit.” They half-collapsed, grabbing onto their knees for support. After a moment of deliberation, they held up one arm. “Get me out of this shit.”
They promptly got Kit out of that shit.
Kit pouted down at the discarded pile of shiny metal. They held the helmet in their hands, stroking the dented dome. The armor was too heavy to carry with them, so they would have to abandon it. “I courted my wife in this armor.”
Rick and Brendon exchanged a guilty look. Finding the armor again in the dark forest was as likely as finding a particular scuff mark on a palace floor. “We can bring the helmet with us,” Brendon suggested.
“Yeah, maybe just tie it to your pack,” Rick said. “Or wear it, but keep the visor up?”
Kit chose the second option, plopping the helmet back on their head. “Let’s fight some monsters.”
The forest had been a level two or three spooky when they’d entered it.
The perpetual darkness was a nice touch, making it difficult to navigate or distinguish day from night.
The monsters were, of course, the highlight for Kit.
Any time they could swing their sword at a moving target, whether it was a ghost, a tentacle, or tiny stick figures, made for an excellent afternoon—evening—morning?
But honestly, they’d expected more ambiance, more bone-chilling horror.
Kit didn’t truly respect their surroundings until they came to the dead and buried corpse of a once thriving city.
The trees watched them.
Not something in the trees. The trees themselves.
It was an important distinction.
Lumpy, misshapen knots bulged from the trees like dozens of eyes. Hollows opened in greedy mouths, inviting unsuspecting critters to climb inside and make themselves at home within the tree’s stomach.
At first, there was a single face per tree, personifying it into the watchful guardian of the forest. As the parents progressed into the city, passing the ruined homes and businesses, the trees became more mutated.
Every few feet up the towering, ancient trunks, a new face emerged.
Some looked furious, their hollows jagged and snarled.
Others looked horrified, their holes and knots curved into an endless scream.
Like the trees had swallowed dozens of victims and preserved their anger and terror forever.
Despite their grotesque features, Kit thought fighting trees sounded kind of boring.
Shifting roots could only move them so fast across the soil, and the old cobblestone road slowed them down further.
Kit watched a root in anticipation, trying to gauge the speed of their potential opponents, only to discover it wasn’t moving at all.
“Why do you look disappointed?” Rick groaned. “We don’t want to fight our way into the evil lair.”
“You don’t,” Kit grumbled, dragging their feet.
“Do I have to remind you that this is the children’s quest, not ours?”
“Delilah could take a few trees,” Kit replied, beaming with pride. Franny may have been worried about their daughter’s survival, but Kit knew better. Delilah was a scrappy fighter who wouldn’t let some living wood bully her.
“I’m more worried about the min—agh!”
“What’s a Minagh?” Kit hoped the beast would prove a challenge.
Their question was drowned out by Brendon shouting his husband’s name and the harsh creak of furious wood.
The helmet unfortunately obscured Kit’s peripheral vision, so they had to swivel their head around to look at Rick straight on. One of the nearby trees had wrapped a thin branch around his throat and was dragging him toward one of its gaping mouths.
Brendon had hold of Rick’s legs, adding his weight to the equation. It slowed the tree down, but his boots slid steadily across the ground. “Kit, do something!”
Kit leapt forward and severed the branch with a quick swipe.
As their blade sliced through the wood, they registered the odd glow beneath the bark, the hot scent of burning wood.
It was too late to pull back and rethink their strategy.
The sword cut cleanly through and came out the other side covered in vibrant orange sap.
It sizzled against the blade, melting little pockmarks into the metal.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Rick and Brendon said in unison. Some of the sap had gotten onto Rick’s pantleg, catching the fabric on fire. Rick fell backwards, his ass smacking hard against the ground and his affected leg raised high in the air.
Brendon whipped off his coat and wrapped it around his husband’s leg to smother the fire.
After a few seconds passed and the coat didn’t catch fire too, he unwrapped it to see the state of Rick’s leg.
A chunk of his pantleg had burned away, exposing a bright red sock and an inch of uninjured bronze calf.
Rick flopped against the ground in relief. His husband still held his ankle in the air, clutching it like he was afraid Rick would catch fire again. If it made him feel better, Rick would let him keep it for now.
Kit stood a few feet away from the tree, glaring at their melting sword. It flopped over in the middle, drooping like a disappointing bedmate. They turned their glare on the tree, which was now waving its branches, stirring up a cool breeze as each twiggy hand passed an inch from Kit’s face.
The roots stayed firmly grounded in place, a stationary target. One Kit couldn’t fight because their sword was melting!
“Once this curse is broken, I’m coming back for you,” Kit declared, pointing at the tree with the remains of their sword. “Now, what were you saying earlier?”
Heavy footsteps and shouts forestalled Kit as three orcs ran toward them.
“Minions,” Rick sighed. “I’m more worried about the minions.”
“Halt! You’re trespassing in the Lord of Grimnight’s forest!” the lead orc cried as they approached the group.
Brendon finally dropped Rick’s foot and helped him stand. Kit ignored the orders to halt and joined the other two so they could face the minions in a united front. “What are the chances the children are in the dungeons?” they asked from the corner of their mouth.
“Fifty-fifty?” Rick guessed. “Cyril didn’t think highly of Brutus, but no one knows much about the apprentice’s plan. Maybe he wants to lock his love away, so he has time to woo them.”
Brendon snorted.
“What? It worked for us.”
“Not on purpose.”
Kit’s hand tightened on the pommel of their ruined sword. “Fight or cooperate?” On the one hand, they wanted to see how these minions compared to Cyril’s. On the other, their sword was broken, and they didn’t have a backup weapon readily available.
“Cooperate,” Rick whispered. “I want to talk to the apprentice.”
“Drop your weapon!”
It was useless anyway, so Kit discarded the broken sword and raised their empty hands.
The orcs surrounded them and tied their wrists with rope. Rick tested the bonds and tried to hide his derision as the bottom half of his palm slipped free. Amateurs. He adjusted his hands so that the rope looked tight again, not that the orcs bothered to check.
They were marched directly to the evil mage’s lair.
Since the minions knew exactly where they were going and didn’t mistreat their captives, it felt like having a tour guide.
The parents could watch the remaining monstrous trees from a distance without having to worry about being eaten or melted by them.
“Do we have enough cells for them?” an orc suddenly asked as they approached a side entrance to the evil lair.
Another orc scratched their head in thought. “We can put them in with the others?”
The parents all perked up at the thought of finding their children, then hurriedly slumped their shoulders and pretended defeat.
The orcs guided them to a narrow staircase, each holding onto one parent. “Careful,” Rick’s guide said, slowing down to step over a vine. “Don’t want to trip.”
At the bottom of the stairs, a reptilian minion stood guard.
The reptile’s scaled brow bunched as they surveyed the orc’s prisoners. “Who are they?”
“Trespassers,” an orc said proudly.
“But we’ve already caught everyone.” The minion surveyed the prisoner’s faces, then shook their head. “We don’t have space for extras.”
“Master Wilde told us not to kill anyone.”
“I didn’t say kill—” the reptile sighed in exasperation. “Nevermind. Put them in the cells and report to the lord so he can deal with them.”
The parents hardly noticed the carefully constructed ambiance of the cells, too focused on seeing their children again, confirming they were safe.
Trey’s familiar red hair blazed against the dreary backdrop. When he saw his fathers, he gaped in confusion. “Father? Dad?”
“I’m here too!” Kit waved their bound hand enthusiastically.
The orcs stared into the cells, confused. “One …” they counted, but stopped, because that was the only one to count.
The rest of the children were gone.