The Red Woman and the White Bear

1. The Hunt

T he cry was soft and distant, scarcely louder than the crunch of dry brush beneath her boots. Though it was difficult to see amidst the unchanging pines, evergreen no matter the season, the bitter-edged chill that swept through on the breeze was telling enough: fall had come hard and fast, with very little warning. Aisling stilled, straining to hear over the ambient sounds of the forest. It came again, still quiet, but closer this time. A few seconds later, the cry was followed by a trumpet blast. Its low, keening trill drew a cold sweat to bead across the back of her neck. A warning .

To anyone else on the island, it would have sounded similar enough to the ferry’s foghorn to write off. Aisling knew better, though. She recognized this sound, if only from her mother’s stories. But according to those same stories, it wasn’t yet hunting season. Either way, she didn’t think she had wandered so far off the forest path as to cross into the borderlands.

Holding a bundle of firewood tight against her chest, she froze, hoping that the next sound would be muted as it moved in another direction. As she waited and listened, her mind drifted back to her mother’s accounts of the creatures and beings she might encounter passing through the woods. Creatures both kind and cruel, most falling somewhere in between. Some that would lead a lost hiker home should they stray too far off the map, and some that would lure them even deeper into the forest. It was those beings of dubious morality that she feared now, far from her group and without even a pocketknife to defend herself.

Another blast of the horn, flat and haunting, set her teeth on edge. The knowledge of what it signaled, even more so. Up ahead, Briar had stopped, too. The pale fur on the dog’s hackles rose slowly. A growl was building somewhere low in his chest.

“Briar, close,” Aisling commanded. The large Pyrenees could almost certainly hear the anxiety in her voice; he only needed to be told once. He crept backward to his place by her side, eyes focused ahead into the deep wood. The undergrowth there was dense. It needed to be cleared and burned before winter.

Aisling shuffled to crouch in the shadow of a tall pine tree and pressed herself against its bark while she listened, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get a sense of what direction the sounds were echoing from. Whether the chase was coming towards her, or away. The woods fell still, so silent that both Aisling and Briar’s breathing seemed impossibly loud.

That stillness was broken by something tumbling raucously through the underbrush, rapidly moving closer and closer. It sounded low to the ground—a chipmunk, maybe. No, bigger than that. A rabbit? But it was no rabbit. A tiny figure raced into view, emerging from a swaying bed of sword ferns. It was a woman; or, at least, something that resembled a woman. Her features were upturned, all delicate lines and sharp angles as if pinched from clay. Despite the way she’d crashed into the clearing, there was a certain lightness to her. A too-strong breeze could have swept her away.

Briar rose out of his defensive posture, more curious now than afraid. Aisling, too, was captivated by the being’s appearance. She moved with frenetic energy, tripping on twigs and vaulting over stones that were nearly half her size. Her stride was both graceful and erratic as she navigated the forest terrain with a sense of urgency.

The subtle rustling of Briar’s fur as he shifted drew the being’s attention, and she froze at once. When their eyes locked, Aisling was gripped by a falling sensation in her stomach as though her foot had missed a step. Something shook loose deep in her mind—something she couldn’t quite place, but that felt all too familiar.

Another long blast from the horn reverberated through the air. This tiny being was the target of a Fae hunt, and the riders were rapidly closing the distance between them. How many of them, Aisling hadn’t a clue, but they’d without a doubt be armed. Aisling’s heart raced with indecision. Something instinctual urged her to stay hidden and keep her distance from the pursuit. After all, it wasn’t her problem, and getting involved could mean putting herself and Briar at the tip of an arrow or sword or whatever other weapons the hunters carried. Do not involve yourself uninvited with matters of the Fae, her mother had warned more than once. The logical part of Aisling’s mind screamed for self-preservation.

But as she studied the figure’s face, terror and desperation etched into her delicate features, a surge of empathy washed over Aisling. She wrestled with her conscience, torn between the fear of the unknown and the pull of compassion. Her mind parsed swiftly through the possibilities until, amidst the chaos of her thoughts, a resolute determination welled up within her.

She couldn’t leave the being to this fate.

Of the three, Aisling was the first to move. She shrugged her backpack from her shoulders and pulled it open. The being’s large black eyes darted back and forth between Aisling and the bag, once. Twice. A flicker of hope glimmered in them. Then she made her decision, scrambling forward and diving into the pack. Once she’d braced herself inside, it was Aisling’s turn to run.

“Let’s go, Briar!” She barked the order and spun on her heel to sprint back toward the trail she’d left an hour before. Adrenaline flooded through her veins and urged her further, faster. Her movements were far less graceful than the tiny female’s had been, but her long legs could cover five times the ground in one stride. Ducking under branches and hurtling over rotting logs, her fear turned into something closer to giddy defiance.

Gradually, the sound of the horn faded into the distance and the sounds of the forest began to filter back in. Still, Aisling ran in a zig-zag pattern until she reached the trail and jogged another hundred meters for good measure before she stooped to set the bag on the ground.

Briar kept a respectful distance and eased himself into a submissive posture. His tail wagged lazily through the dirt after their run, which must have seemed like a great game. The being clamored out on shaky legs. Up close, her size seemed even more impossible. She was just as long as Aisling’s forearm and her garments were sewn from leaves with delicate stitchwork only such little hands could manage.

Unsure whether such a creature could even understand her, Aisling spoke breathlessly: “You should be safe now.”

She cocked her head to one side, then the other, globe-like black eyes studying Aisling and Briar with equal parts terror and fascination. They regarded each other for a beat longer before the being turned and darted off into the darkening woods on the opposite side of the trail.

“Aisling!” Her friends called out to her from the trailhead, and she rose to her feet and dusted herself off. Her hands trembled; the adrenaline was overpowering and would take hours yet to wane. The beam of a flashlight cut through the hazy dusk and found her face. Squinting against the glare, she reached up to shield her eyes.

“I was just on my way back,” she called out in response. She stole one last glance back—first in the direction the being had run, then to where they’d just emerged from the trees, half-expecting to see the hunters lurking there in the shadows. She let out a sharp breath of relief when she found either side of the trail to be empty.

Briar rose to his feet and sniffed the spot where the being had stood moments before. Aisling reached out and nudged him away halfheartedly—his curiosity was one of her favorite things about him. Four years prior, Aisling had been left brokenhearted when the man she was sure she’d marry left her without so much as a goodbye. The apartment she moved into was small and lonely, and on a whim she’d stopped at a pet store after work to pick up a fish. A betta, she thought, like the blue one she had for a summer when she was young. She’d wanted something to take care of other than herself.

But when she met Briar’s warm brown eyes, the decision to take him home had already been made for her. He was barely three years old then, but already weighed 130 pounds and was by far the largest dog at the adoption event. Ignoring the impracticality of bringing the colossal Pyrenees into her city apartment, Aisling had lied on the paperwork and written her old home address on Brook Isle as her permanent residence. They’d been inseparable since.

“Where’s the firewood?” It was Lida rounding the corner ahead, with Jackson holding the light.

“It was all too damp,” Aisling lied. “We’ll have to make do with what we brought.”

Jackson swore. “We’ve burned through a lot of it already.”

She shrugged. “Send Seb back to town for more. He’s the one that insisted two bundles would be enough.”

Aisling sunk her hands deep into her pockets to hide the tremors and marched up the trail ahead of Lida before her friend could link their arms. On the walk back to camp, her thoughts remained consumed by the encounter with the small being and the odd sense of familiarity it had sparked in the back of her mind. Just how closely it mirrored elements of her mother’s stories about the faeries she’d encountered when Aisling was a child.

Lida increased her pace to catch up and glanced at Aisling with concern. “Are you alright?”

Aisling forced a smile and attempted to push aside the lingering unease. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice betraying a hint of tension. “Just got startled by something up the trail. And I’m annoyed about our firewood situation.”

Lida’s brow furrowed a bit, sensing that there was more to the story, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she changed the topic to the group’s dinner plans—Seb had started grilling burgers. Aisling appreciated the distraction.

Seb’s face, illuminated by the flames of the grill, fell when he saw Aisling and the others return without the armfuls of wood he’d clearly hoped they’d be carrying.

“What happened?”

“Poor planning,” Jackson grumbled. He walked over to the fire and kicked a couple of logs off the top. They were just beginning to catch around the rough edges of the bark and would be better saved for later on as the night darkened.

Aisling crossed the campsite to unzip her tent, and Briar lumbered in past her to stretch out on her sleeping bag. Before tossing her backpack into the corner, Aisling peered inside. The little being hadn’t left any trace behind, not a single hair or bit of dirt or scrap of fabric. It was almost as if she’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe she had.

Seb and Jackson were arguing over the firewood issue, both adamant the other should go back into town for more, so Aisling snagged a burger off the grill and a beer from the cooler and went to join Lida by the fire. She wasn’t hungry, but it would give her something to do with her still-shaking hands.

“What do you think you heard on the trail?” Lida asked as Aisling sat down in a camp chair beside her. They pulled them up to the small fire, close enough that the pair could rest their feet on the ring of stacked rocks that encircled it. Any further back, and they wouldn’t have been able to feel its heat at all.

“I don’t know. A bear, most likely.” The look of terror that crossed Lida’s face was too serious for her to let the joke lie. “I’m teasing,” Aisling amended quickly. “Probably just a deer. They’re all over out here.”

“Jesus, Ash,” Lida sighed. “You were out there awhile. Jackson thought you’d gotten lost.”

“Jackson doesn’t know you’re a walking compass,” Seb interjected. He lowered himself onto the ground behind the girls and leaned against the log, balancing two burgers on his plate. “You know this place like the back of your hand.”

“Used to,” Aisling corrected. “It’s changed a lot.”

“Not that much. It’s still in there.” He flicked a bottle cap at her head and it fell into the fire when she dodged it. She rolled her eyes.

“Right before we found you earlier, I was starting to tell Jackson about that trip we all went on in high school, remember it?” A grin spread across Lida’s face, her raven hair framing it in the dancing light .

Of course she did. “I don’t think we need to relive it again.”

Lida took a swig from her water bottle and let out a hearty laugh. “Come on, it’s one of my favorites.”

“This was the time we got into my brother’s stash of booze, right?” Seb leaned forward so he could be a part of the conversation. Aisling nodded.

“I haven’t heard this story,” Jackson chimed in, joining the group. He patted Lida’s knee, and when she rose, he sank into her chair and pulled her back down to sit sideways across his lap.

“Your wife doesn’t come out of it looking great,” Seb teased.

Lida swatted at his leg. “It was a class trip; we were supposed to be learning about…something.”

“Constellations,” Aisling supplied.

“Constellations, right. But Seb brought his brother’s watered-down vodka, and we snuck off after Mr. Wilke went to bed. I think it was my first time drinking anything besides beer. It was your first time drinking anything at all, wasn’t it?” Lida looked across at Aisling, who nodded. The memory of the alcohol’s sharp burn on her tongue and its acrid aftertaste made her wrinkle her nose. Drain cleaner would have tasted better.

“And,” Seb added, “all we’d had to eat was a hot dog apiece.”

“We were trying to find one of the old hunting cabins to hang out in,” Lida continued, her words punctuated by fits of giggles. They were infectious, as always, and laughter bubbled up in Aisling’s chest as well. For the first time since her encounter off the trail, she felt she had mentally rejoined her friends. “By the time we gave up and decided to turn around, Seb could hardly see straight.”

“Me?” he demanded. “Let’s talk about you! You ripped a hole in your jeans trying to get over a log.”

Jackson looked up at his wife for confirmation and she nodded, breathless from laughter now.

“I thought I could slide across it like the hood of a car; my entire ass was out. We were stumbling around like fawns, neither of us could walk straight. But you, Aisling,” Lida pointed to her with her water bottle. “Even drunk, you led us right back to camp like you’d known where we were the entire time. I don’t think you tripped once.”

Aisling’s face grew warm. “I’m sure I did once or twice.”

“No way,” Seb said. “You never do. You were practically cross-eyed but as surefooted as ever.”

The forest around the group quieted for a moment, the atmosphere at the campsite stilling, before a low rumble began beneath their feet. The earth began to shake, then undulate, rolling like ocean waves. Several of the rocks stacked around the fire tumbled off. Briar ran unsteadily from Aisling’s tent, tail tucked, to her side. She gripped his collar in one hand and her beer in the other, hard, so her knuckles blanched white as she attempted to brace herself against the tremors.

The earthquake lasted for only several seconds, and though Aisling’s attention turned immediately to inspect the surrounding trees for leaning trunks or falling branches, her friends were unbothered. Lida stood up off of Jackson’s lap to get herself a beer from the cooler .

“That was a big one,” Aisling said, a little breathless, as the sounds of the forest crept back in. She’d felt a handful of tremors since returning to the island. Most of those had been so small and over so quickly that she might have thought them caused by a passing truck, had trucks that large been able to reach the island in the first place.

“We’ve had bigger,” Seb said nonchalantly. He reached out to give Briar a reassuring pat on the head. “Remember the one around this time last year?”

Lida nodded, then settled back onto Jackson’s lap. “I hate them, though.”

“It’s the damn fault line. One of these days, I swear it’ll open up and swallow us all whole,” Jackson joked. Lida elbowed him hard.

Seb shrugged and tossed his empty bottle toward the trash bag by the grill. He missed by several feet. “You laugh, but that crack in my driveway is proof enough for me.”

Jackson’s brows shot up. “No shit? I didn’t realize that was from the quakes.”

“Real glad to be back now, aren’t you?” Seb’s tone was sarcastic when he turned to address Aisling, but she answered honestly as her heart rate slowed and her fear of falling trees abated.

“I am, I think,” she said. “Earthquakes and all.”

“So…did you all get in trouble or what?” Jackson asked, drawing the group back into the memory they’d been discussing before nature’s interruption.

Lida nodded, letting out a short burst of laughter that subsided into a grimace as she recalled the ending. “Not until the following morning.”

“When Mr. Wilke caught me stuffing my sleeping bag into the trash,” Aisling filled in the rest. “After your beautiful wife threw up in it.” Lida buried her face in her hands when Jackson feigned gagging.

“I’ve always envied you for that, you know,” Seb added and nudged Aisling’s leg with his beer. “If I knew this island half as well as you, you lot would never see me again. I’d be a hermit living out here in the woods somewhere.”

“Says the one who didn’t bring enough firewood,” Jackson nagged, still a bit annoyed. Lida nudged him playfully and Seb rolled his eyes. Aisling leaned forward to put another log atop the dying flames. There was only one left to burn once it finished, but she didn’t mind much.

As the group continued to reminisce on into the night, their laughter mingled with the rustling of leaves and the crickets’ melodic song. She’d missed them, missed nights like this. It was in these moments that she could hardly imagine ever returning to her life on the mainland.

Without the searing heat of the bonfire they’d all hoped for, the temperature grew to be just shy of uncomfortably cold. Once they burned the last log down to smoldering ash and each retreated to their tents for the night, Aisling took one last walk around the perimeter of the campground before settling in. However well her friends had managed to distract her, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched from somewhere in the darkness. She imagined keen eyes peering out from the leaves, grasping arms prepared to snatch her up and spirit her away. But nothing jumped out at her. No heads poked out from behind the trees and no hands reached for her ankles from the underbrush. Even still, sleep felt a long way off as Aisling wrapped herself in her sleeping bag.

Like chasing after the tail end of a dream upon waking, she could almost recall what the tiny being reminded her of. Its pinched face was reminiscent of something blurry deep in the recesses of her memory. Her mother would have told her about something like it, maybe. Or perhaps she’d drawn a similar faerie once; it might be buried someplace in the pile of sketchbooks Aisling had found in an unlabeled box in her father’s closet. She hadn’t yet paged through them, but Aisling could recall sitting on the living room rug as a child watching her mother move a pencil over the page in fast, almost frantic strokes. Like she couldn’t get the images out of her head fast enough. Though she would have undoubtedly referred to the being by a part of its name; Aisling hadn’t even thought to ask. Not that it would have understood her either way.

She was nervous, too, that the hunters would have caught her scent. If they’d been as close behind their quarry as they sounded, it was likely. In her haste to flee, she knew she hadn’t done enough to cover her tracks. There was little chance they would cross this far to seek her out, but she thought that she should avoid that part of the forest for a while in case they’d marked her. A shiver ran up her spine, imagining hunters on horseback riding her down. But Briar seemed wholly unconcerned, and she took the cue from him that they weren’t in any danger for the moment. She reached down to where he was curled behind her knees and scratched the top of his head. He stirred, pressed tighter against her, then settled again. His calm was contagious and eased Aisling’s lingering unease enough for her to allow her eyes to drift closed and her brain to finally quiet.

Aisling hadn’t been asleep for long when she awoke to Briar’s hot breath on the side of her face. She reached up to shove him away, but he panted insistently and drove his wet nose into her ear.

“Alright, I’m up,” she groused. Aisling pushed herself into a seated position. Her legs were tangled in the sleeping bag and she kicked to push it down to her ankles. In the dark, she fumbled blindly until her fingers found her lantern and she switched it on. Briar was sitting now by the flap of the tent, whining softly. He looked hard at Aisling, then through the mesh door into the night. Back and forth.

She groaned. “You can hold it until morning, Bri. Lay back down.”

He pawed at the flap, nearly catching his nail on the zipper. He’d have figured out how to pull it open if Aisling hadn’t pushed him aside first. With another groan, she slipped on her boots. Briar seemed almost surprised when she hooked the leash onto his collar before she pulled the zipper down and nodded for him to go on. She could have let him out by himself, but she didn’t trust the forest tonight.

“It’s not you, it’s me, buddy,” she muttered. In the haze of sleep, it took her a second to realize how silent the night had become, just as it had moments before the earthquake. The crickets had hushed and the owl that had been perched above since sundown had ceased its hooting. The only sound was a breeze that rustled through the pines and wove through the brush, a dry whisper. But this time, the earth didn’t tremble. Something else had drawn the silence across the campsite.

A glimmer caught Aisling’s eye—a distant object up the trail was catching the silvery moonlight and reflecting it toward her in a flashing pattern. A long, low whistle accompanied it: one unbroken sound, carried on the breeze. Its pitch couldn’t have been matched by the owl, nor any other bird Aisling would have recognized. She tugged on Briar’s leash, but he’d heard it, too. He was rooted to the ground, immovable even when Aisling insisted he return with her to the tent. He rarely ignored her commands, if ever, but now he was so captivated by the small flickering light that he was deaf to her words. Then, he began pulling her towards it.

“Briar, stop,” Aisling hissed. She didn’t want to wake the others, but panic was beginning to rise in her throat. It’s a trap, she thought as she frantically tried to corral her large dog. The hunters came back for me. If they couldn’t have their quarry, the human that had aided in its escape would be the next best thing—and certainly a much greater prize. She wrapped the leash twice around her hand to stop it from sliding through her sweaty palm and leaned her weight against it, but it was no use. Briar had a one-track mind and he was determined to drag her to that whistling light.

She hadn’t thought to grab her pocketknife, or even to put on her coat before climbing out of the tent. She was grateful at least that she’d kept ahold of the lantern, but its dim light hardly made a dent. This was wilderness dark, thick and heavy as a woolen cloak and twice as strong as any light source she could throw at it.

Briar pressed forward, and as the pair neared the light, it stopped flickering. It was a still beacon now, and whatever held it a little over a foot off the ground didn’t back away as they approached. Though he was bound and determined to reach his target, Briar’s posture was relaxed. His tail hung down and swung loosely with each step, his soft footfall belying his size. And when they finally drew close enough to discern the figure in the middle of the trail, Aisling’s breath caught in her throat. Almost as if a fragment of a dream had materialized in front of her, there stood the very same tiny being that she had rescued just hours before.