12. Not Nearly
Not Nearly
Emerging from the Faerie ring the next morning was like stepping out into the darkest part of night.
Daybreak and the warmth of the morning sun had roused Cypress and Torren from the depths of slumber, the embers of their fire long ago turned to ash. They’d eaten a quick breakfast, basking in the sun’s warm rays.
But one step outside the Faerie ring, and pure black enveloped the trees, pressing in on Cypress’s senses.
It was as if the order of the day had flipped, as if they’d slept through another full day and emerged into night.
But, she knew better. The sun had warmed her face and had kissed the tip of her nose within the bounds of the Faerie ring.
“Be careful, Lass. The creature won’t reveal itself until it thinks you’ve let your guard down,” Torren instructed, leading his horse through the trees, presumably in the direction of the road.
Cypress had no choice but to trust Torren’s path as the pure darkness felt almost alive with the way it pressed down, seeping in each of her pores, suffocating her every breath.
Seren’s beautiful sooty face hovered just over her shoulder, the rhythm of the horses' hooves on the ground beating in time with her heart.
On and on the pair walked while Cypress kept her ears open for any sign of a creature following them. Occasionally, a twig would snap in the distance, and her breath would seize her lungs, but Torren kept walking.
“This darkness is not natural, is it?” Cypress eventually asked when it had seemed like they’d walked for half the day without even a hint of daylight seeping through the thick canopy of leaves.
“No, Lass, it is not. The Durdiddle can call shadows to it so thick even the day turns to night,” Torren replied, gesturing around to the deep shadows that have surrounded them since leaving the safety of the ring.
“And it was not dark within the Faerie ring because?” Cypress asked, even though she could guess the answer.
“I already told ye, Lass. The forest always listens and will help those who ask for it,” He winked, sending his customary grin over his shoulder at her.
“What language were you speaking to it in?” Cypress asked in a hushed tone, drawing level with him as they rejoined the road, darkness still enveloping the forest.
“Is now really the time?”
“No, I suppose it isn’t,” Cypress responded while casting her gaze back and forth across the road, sweeping for combatants.
“And still you want me to tell you, don’t you?”
“Naturally,” Cypress drawled. All of her muscles were tensed, ready for something to leap out of the dark at her at any moment.
Torren sighed and explained after a moment's hesitation. “The language of Faerie is as old as the old ones,” he offered, straightening his shoulders.
Cypress traded her gaze from the forest in favor of Torren’s face. She’d learned in their travels that the line of his jaw and the crease between his brow would often betray his emotions. “And that’s how all of Faerie communicates?”
Torren met her gaze, his feet stalling on the road. “All of Faerie understands the language, though many communicate in other ways. The forest is always listening, but sometimes she speaks, too.”
“This isn’t the Wylds, Torren.”
“Not yet, no, but we are on the very edges.”
“Are you trying to tell me that the Wylds aren’t merely a border on a map, but a…a… creature?”
“What if it is?”
“That’s absurd. How could an entire forest be a single creature?”
“The Wylds are a living, breathing thing, Lass. They’re ever changing, shifting, and churning in time with Lae lines beneath the soil. Magic churns within those woods, and it soars in the veins of the Fair Folk.”
Cypress didn’t have the opportunity to counter Torren’s claims. Out of the corner of her eye, a small greyish creature emerged from the shadows, pointed teeth bared as it charged toward her.
Immediately, Cypress drew her blade, stepping away from Torren and the horses in order to have space to move.
The creature charged, wide, dark, unsettling eyes locked on its target.
The thing had fur, though it looked infected with mange, with as many bloody scabs covering its body as there were mottled greyish hairs.
Torren drew his blade beside her, the ringing sound of steel against steel thrumming in her blood.
Just before the creature was upon them, it disappeared with a pop, black smoke rising where it had been.
“I assume this is the Durdiddle?” Cypress asked, blade held at the ready before her.
“You’d be correct, Lass.”
“Why now?”
“We weren’t paying attention to it,” Torren said.
She kept her gaze on the edges of the trees, sweeping back and forth for any sight of the Durdiddle.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Cypress hissed, noticing Torren’s closed eyes.
“Stop looking, it’ll attack once more,” Torren said by way of explanation.
Cypress glared at his face for a heartbeat, wondering if the male had lost all of his senses.
“Trust me, Lass,” Torren implored without opening his eyes.
With a growl, Cypress followed his example, sword held loosely at her side.
There wasn’t a single peep coming from the birds in the forest, not a flap of wings or even the sound of the wind between the leaves.
Dead silence rang around Cypress and Torren.
Until, there on the edge of her subconscious, Cypress heard the barest snap of a twig, a haunting, child-like giggle immediately after.
The air shifted around her, and Cypress moved. She swung her sword up just in time to block a hand with sharp talons hidden under tufted fingertips from gouging out her closed eyes.
Torren’s sword came down next to hers, and then the Durdiddle disappeared once more into a puff of black smoke.
“Fuck,” Cypress swore, her frustration getting the better of her for a moment.
“Once more, Lass.”
Gritting her teeth, Cypress glared at Torren, prepared to tell him to fuck off, she’d kill the thing her own way.
“Trust me, Cypress. Close your eyes once more.”
She snapped her teeth closed. But, with a forced exhale, Cypress closed her eyes once more, focusing on her breathing and the sounds of the surrounding forest.
Or, rather, the lack of sound.
Cypress first focused on ignoring the sound of Torren’s light breaths beside her. Then, when she could no longer hear him, Cypress cast her senses wide, listening for any signs of the Durdiddle, though she could do without the thing’s laughter in her ear.
Instead of pure, unbroken silence, though, this time, Cypress could hear the wind whispering through the trees, a prickle of apprehension over her shoulder. But she waited, standing there with her sword held loosely between her fingertips for the Durdiddle to attack first.
Cypress couldn’t have said how long she and Torren stood there in the middle of the darkened forest, back to back with their eyes closed.
But, eventually, when Cypress felt that prickle of apprehension on her spine, the ripple of awareness speared through her body, and she moved, eyes flying open as her back bowed backward out of the way of the reach of those tufted, talon-tipped claws.
Torren moved immediately, sword moving in sync with Cypress’s as they each brought their sword down on opposite sides of the Durdiddle’s neck, and sliced. The Durdiddle’s head dropped from its shoulders, and green blood ran in rivers from the neck stump.
The Durdiddle’s body evaporated into black smoke before it ever touched the ground, the head with it.
Then, the darkness shrouding the road lifted.
The warm light of just after midday filtered through the canopy, bringing with it the now-familiar sweltering humidity of the southern forests and a cacophony of chatter from the surrounding wildlife.
Cypress took a breath, then bent to clean her sword in the grass near the horses. The blade, though, was clean, without even a drop of blood from the Durdiddle remaining.
“Ye did well, Lass. Surprisingly so for a human with their first encounter with one of the more violent Fair Folk,” Torren said while sheathing his blade.
Cypress grunted. “Don’t sound so surprised,” She said before sliding her sword into the sheath strapped to her saddle.
“Accept the compliment, would ye?”
“I will when one is actually given,” Cypress said when she was in the saddle once more.
Torren scoffed, then shook his head and mounted his horse.
“Just because I was surprised by the ease with which you–we handled one of the more feared of my kind, does not mean I think less of you or your ability. Even some of my strongest people wouldn’t survive an encounter with the Durdiddle, much less without a scratch upon them,” he said and urged his horse forward.
Now that the Durdiddle was gone, the canopy of leaves overhead didn’t feel so opaque– an impassible barrier. The sun dappled her skin once more.
Cypress glared at the space between Torren’s shoulders for a heartbeat too long, focused only on her hips moving with the smooth gait of her horse and the breath in her lungs before she replied. “Fine. I accept the compliment.”
“Marvelous, Lass. Can we move on now?”
“What’s the matter? Have you gone too long without someone fawning over you, Princeling?” Cypress jeered, following closely behind him on the trail.
“Yup. You’re not fawning enough for me.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, your highness.”
“See, that’s better.”
“Please. Tell me you aren’t like Cade and Caelith in that regard.”
“Do I really look like I care if people kiss the ground I walk on?”
Cypress considered for a moment. “No… I suppose not,” She said, urging her horse forward, and level with his. “How much farther until we reach the boundary of the Wylds?”
Torren shrugged. “Not too much farther, but we won’t reach camp until nightfall.”
Cypress signed, resigned to another day with her ass going numb in the saddle and her feet aching.