Chapter 19
The twilight world wrapped around her shoulders like a shroud, but not even the soft hum of the Undying Land lessened the torment inside her.
Dapple promptly lowered his head, but Trisha wouldn’t give him a moment to graze.
If they stopped now, she would turn around.
The ghost of Blainor’s voice ordered her to come back.
She shook her head, voice firm. “We’re going deeper.”
An irritated swish of Dapple’s tail as he informed her of his opinion. She’d taken him out before his breakfast, and he deserved a break.
“Once at Tilia’s, you’ll have all the grass and water your belly requires.” With a flick of her reins, she smacked her mouth. “The magic’s stronger there. The grass is sweeter. You’ll see, Dapple.”
With a dejected sigh, her horse obeyed, his slow strides taking them past the obsidian ring into the dark forest.
Trisha kept the lyre close, magic waiting at her fingertips—the only protection against sharp claws and teeth here.
The way her luck had gone, the first creature she’d meet would be Shi’as.
Breath caught in her throat as she envisioned the serpent’s delight, the torment of his slithering words. Shi’as would know.
The forest exhaled. Starlight danced on the leaves as the glowing spheres shimmered in the dusk. There was no way around it. Her path to Tilia led through the night folk’s land.
Trisha’s right hand remained poised to strum a chord as her magic hummed, petulant.
It recalled the fire, mourning the loss.
Her shoulders hunched against its accusation as she guided Dapple through the whispering trees.
All the while, Trisha’s magic sizzled against her, hissing its disapproval.
Riding through the dim forest, her skirt bunched in her lap, bringing nothing with her but Dapple, her lyre, and fresh scars, she felt like a true prodigal daughter.
Not even in her nightmares had she imagined returning in such a state.
Would Tilia welcome her? Her anxiety eclipsed the pain of rejecting Blainor.
Somewhere nearby awaited the path, skirted by shifting-colored morrowflowers.
Tall trees with thick stumps circled her.
Small animals with luminous eyes skittered in the undergrowth as glowing lights danced between the shadows.
The ground squelched under Dapple’s hooves.
Trisha shivered, sensing a presence in the dark, beyond the trees.
She strained her neck. Where was that damned road? The path swayed as things in the fae realm tended to do, but she knew its shape and look. The obsidian road rimmed by flowers that changed their shades as they pleased.
Dark boughs like a maze, pulsing lights thinning the gloom. The creatures of the living trees held no love for mortals, but only through their gloomy forest could she find her road. Trisha’s nerves wrung tighter as she imagined Tilia’s dark, bark-like face. What emotion would her green eyes hold?
Trisha had left, declaring she’d never return.
The taste of ash filled her mouth. She couldn’t go back.
Couldn’t stay. Silent accusations tormented her mind.
She’d lost her sense, the sight of her goal.
All because of Blainor’s touch and promise of heat.
Why hadn’t she said no? But… her eyes closed.
No other man had ever made her feel like he did: wanted and dangerous, teetering between ruin and desire.
Dapple’s wet snort broke through her reverie. Jolting, she straightened, eyes narrowing. Hadn’t she seen that rock already? And that mountain ash, trunk curved like a snake, limbs heavy with red berries? The sensation of being watched intensified. Exhaling, she pulled her steed to a halt.
“Ha ha. Very funny,” she called out to the waiting darkness. “Such a great joke. My horse and I are so lost. Would the great, mischievous spirit reveal itself to us?”
Only the trees shivered.
Her jaw locked. So, this kind of creature was toying with her.
“I’d like to applaud and thank you for such entertainment.” She struck a kind chord, its faint shine diluting the dark. “Perhaps there’s a barter to be done?”
The snarl that broke through the darkness sounded like creaking wood. “Bah! Mortals have nothing I’d be interested in seeing.”
“Not even a sign of gratitude?” Trisha asked. “It’s poor manners from the hosts not to accept one.”
She was treading dangerous waters in not knowing who she was interacting with.
For all she knew, her offer could offend the spirit.
But she’d been charmed to walk endlessly the same route, her eyes heavy, heart bleeding.
And this woman had neither time nor stamina.
Best to confront the creature and be rid of it.
In the worst-case scenario, perhaps the woodland spirit would get mad and charm her into a deep slumber for hundreds of years.
Not too bad an idea, come to think of it.
Silence.
She touched her lyre again. It vibrated in her hands, but she didn’t have the energy to wonder about it.
Battling the exhaustion, she wrestled control of the magic and threaded the strings with its power.
Trisha couldn’t afford its petulance, not her lyre’s noncompliance.
She hadn’t missed that she’d gained a response from the spirit after she played.
A few idle chords, and a glow like an early dawn above the moors, reminiscent of summer twilight, fractured the dark.
The trees hushed, the boughs swaying though no wind could be felt. She waited. A soft rustle echoed from her left, but she kept her eyes trained ahead as though she hadn’t noticed.
“Don’t stop,” the voice spoke again. It was gnarled and rough. The leaves stuttered, and little bells tinkled, silver and glass.
“Stop what?” Trisha asked, hiding her smile. “Would you like to hear a song, dear sprite?”
Turning in the saddle, she faced the dark forest. Amidst the bushes and still trees, bright blue eyes shone.
Her shoulders slumped. Just as she’d thought—a sylvan.
Not malevolent by nature. Not a flesh-eater.
In her undone dress, knees bare, and her hair tangled down to her waist, at least she stood some chance.
The sylvan hobbled closer. Small and gnarled, with leaves and vines weaving through its torso, it resembled a little bush.
Its arms looked like a pair of twisting twigs covered in knotted bark.
A web of little sprout-like offshoots grew as its fingers, and pale green fronds on its body rustled as it moved.
“Maybe,” it said with a voice sounding like a tree bending in the wind. “But only if you play a song with even brighter light.” A shimmer of cobalt eyes came through.
“I might,” Trisha said lightly, plucking out a tender chime. “If you release me from your spell and reveal where lies the path I seek.”
The sylvan cackled, and when it did, the trees around them swished.
Dapple bobbed beneath her, flicking his tail.
May I take a bite? he asked. I don’t mind eating this rude, walking cabbage.
Trisha swallowed her laugh. Dapple wasn’t helping, but, by gods, how she loved him.
The sylvan’s face crinkled, a shadow passing across his eyes like clouds darkened the sun. “I don’t like your horse.”
“We’re not talking about my horse. We’re talking about safe passage to the Morrow Path.” She let out another strum on her lyre. A golden glow lightened the gloom like the sun at dawn. “I’ll play a song for you, Sylvan. If you do as I ask.”
The spirit scoffed. “A song from the mortal world? No. That won’t do. What will you bring from there? Death and destruction. Cut saplings, bleeding earth, and the wail of a forest destroyed. The mortal world has nothing I value.”
“Even so, I’d wager there’s beauty and life enough to convince even you that not everything remains as you believe.
” She lowered her voice, lacing it with her magic.
“There’s the sky and the rain. Worms wiggling in the earth, softening the soil for the roots.
The sun to shed its light over all things living. ”
Faint mirages shimmered in the air. The last one, a pale imitation of the shining sphere of radiance. The forest heaved, and the trees quivered as though shedding off a dream.
“Sun…” the spirit whispered, something forlorn in its lake-eyes. “Tell me. Does it still plow across the sky? Does it bring the rain, the sweet decay from which all new things are born?”
“I can show you, Sylvan,” said Trisha, idly playing the strings, “if you show us a safe passage to the path rimmed with morrowflowers.”
The spirit didn’t speak at first. Its attention remained on the summoned sun, its eyes full of yearning. Trisha waited a few moments. At last, the sylvan shook its head. “Very well, mortal. You can play your song.”
Scoffing, Trisha dropped her fingers from the strings. The light died. “No, Sylvan. You’ll only hear it once I stand where I ask: on the path leading to Tilia’s heart-tree.”
The spirit growled. “Bring it back, mortal!” it demanded, gesturing wildly. The forest groaned as the trees leaned in, and the glowing orbs dimmed. “My stalk craves the light. My trees ache for its memory.”
“Only when you do as I ask,” said Trisha. Unyielding, she sat in her saddle, tone firm. If the sylvan sensed her exhaustion, she’d lose all her bargaining power. So, she kept her face expressionless, her stance straight.
If you turn back, I can help you, Trisha’s magic cooed in her ears. She ignored its words.
“Bah.” The sylvan tossed its limbs into the air. “I care not for your wants. If you don’t obey, I’ll cast a spell that keeps you lost for all eternity.”
“Then, no music and no sun,” said Trisha cheekily, turning Dapple around. Her knuckles blanched as she clenched the reins. Would her gamble pay off?
“W-Where are you going?” cried the sylvan. “I’ll summon the earth to swallow you both. I’ll command the trees to block your path.”
Trisha didn’t answer, guiding Dapple away from the spirit.