Walk the Wild With Me

by Rachel Atwood

  “Hilde, how fare you?” Nick asked, without pausing to acknowledge the other villagers. He strode forward at a steady rate, but his chest heaved, drawing in deep breaths, as if he had run the entire way here.

  Hilde felt her face grinning wide enough to stretch her cheeks at sight of the familiar face who had a connection to Dom. She reached a hand to him, disregarding any sense of propriety.

  Tuck scowled at her and moved in front of Nick, preventing him from reaching her.

  “We did not expect you, young man,” Tuck said.

  “I . . . I had the opportunity to slip away and decided I have an obligation to verify Hilde’s safety and well-being,” he panted.

  “You don’t trust us?”

  Nick blushed.

  Hilde felt the need to giggle. She placed fingers in front of her mouth to keep it back.

  “Of course, I trust you. That’s why I sent her here. But . . . but . . .”

  “But you are a boy and she is a girl. I know.” Tuck said on a sigh. “I should have expected something like this. Where is Henry?”

  “On his knees, cowering in the Lady Chapel. He vows never to venture outside the abbey walls again,” Nick said. He sounded sad.

  “You have temporarily lost a companion in adventure. Not a dear friend.” Gnomish Robin Goodfellow slapped Nick on the back, nearly knocking him into a stumble.

  Nick’s eyes found Hilde again. His gaze was so intense she returned his blush and sought something, anything to say, that would break the tension building between them. “Well, if you intend to share our supper, then perhaps you could carry the buckets of water over to the cauldron.”

  Twenty-Eight

  There is something I must do.

  The thought broke through the Green Man’s dreams, forcing him to rouse.

  He couldn’t yet bring himself to open his vision to the world around him. Sleep tugged at his mind, demanding more.

  There is something you must do. The shrill, feminine voice stabbed at his mind.

  His eyes opened, and he looked around him through old knotholes formed by discarded branches, openings in his bark.

  Movement. Dim outlines of people going about daily tasks. A sniff identified them all, including someone new and someone familiar who didn’t belong here.

  He closed his eyes again and concentrated on scent and listening. Voices separated into individuals. Soon the cadence and the pitch coalesced into a person speaking. Then the words began to make sense.

  “Huntsmen ’aven’t returned. Haf to make do with a single squirrel in t’ stew.”

  “Found some turnips gone wild from ’t village. Give some crunch to t’ stew.”

  “New cabbage leaves!”

  “Blacksmit’ fixed a new ’andle on t’ ladle.”

  Ordinary conversation. Everyday matters. The important things to his people.

  He opened his eyes again and concentrated on the newcomer. His first glance startled him.

  A ghost. Thick dark hair. Shapeless black cowl. Broad face with keen dark eyes. And an aura of anger. Dom, the boy from the abbey who had died, come back to haunt the people who had welcomed him and showed him kindness.

  But no. Not Dom. He knew that Elena had escorted the boy beyond, where he could find peace.

  He made the effort to peer more closely. A feminine flick of the wrist. A slighter breadth of shoulder. And more importantly, a slightly different cut to the cowl. Sturdy gray wool, thick and raw enough to shed moisture. Expensive wool by village standards, though crude in the monastic community. Imported from the Mother House in France. Nowhere else did people have access to dyes that retained the colors and did not fade rust from iron salts.

  This must be Hilde, Dom’s twin, run away from her convent. That would make the other outsider Nick. No matter how much time he spent here, among the Woodwose, he would always remain a stranger looking in. Little John could not picture the boy as separate from the abbey, just as something of the abbey clung to Tuck, a part of both worlds, and yet separate from both.

  Nick walked through the village with an air of familiarity, as if he’d spent a lot of time here in the weeks while Little John slept.

  “Time to wake up, old man,” Robin said, leaning casually against the Green Man’s tree. The tightness in his muscles belied his relaxed pose.

  Little John sniffed again, alert to whatever kept Robin as tightly strung as his bow.

  “The girl reminds me of my Marian. She was about the same age when I went off Crusading, in search of fortune so I could come home a rich hero and marry her, without title or lands. I stayed away long enough so that she had a chance to grow up. Then one more month became one more year, and another, until I’d been gone ten and everything changed.” He dropped his head sadly.

  Little John shook himself free of bark and pith and sap. A deep breath of air through his lungs, not seeping in through new leaves, and he was able to step free of his bower.

  “How long have I slept?” he asked, stretching his arms over his head and twisting at the waist to loosen his muscles.

  “Almost too long,” Robin replied. He yawned with his hand over his mouth. “The moon rises a full two hours after sunset,” he whispered behind his hand.

  “We need to be knocking on the door of our destination at the moment the moon is one hand’s breadth above the horizon,” Little John said, excitement rising in his belly like a hunger that could never be sated.

  “The boy is ready,” Robin said. “Tuck has been talking to him about Elena and how if he stays with the Woodwose to woo Hilde, he must give up the goddess. Tonight will be a test of his commitment. He must give her up for a few hours to see if he can do it for the rest of his life.”

  “Which way will he go when tonight’s adventure, for good or ill, is over?”

  “I cannot tell. He is much enamored of Hilde, as only a boy on the verge of manhood can be in love.”

  Little John said nothing in reply. But he watched Nick carefully, focusing just beyond his left ear. The energy of life emanating from him did not yet merge with the villagers. He doubted it ever would, even if he stayed.

  * * *

  A mood of lighthearted gaiety filled the Woodwose village. Nick watched as people gathered up foods they could transport, a blanket or other covering against an eventual chill, and donned their cleanest and most sound garb. They prepared for a festival.

  As the sun passed the zenith, people danced off toward the standing stones in pairs and small groups. Many carried kindling and small logs to add to a bonfire.

  He watched Hilde gather new redberries. She bent over each low-growing vine, pulling only the ripest of the new crop, leaving plenty of green bits of fruit to ripen for the days to come. She’d settled in at the village well enough to provide this lovely addition to the festival feast.

  Resolutely, Nick gathered an armful of firewood and got ready to follow.

  If he paused and listened carefully to the life of the forest, he thought he might feel the magnetic pull of the stones, even from this distance.

  “No.” Tuck grabbed hold of Nick’s arm, forcing him to drop the firewood. The children, no more than six or eight years old, darted in and made off with the precious burden of his kindling.

  “I would like to share a village ritual so that I might feel a part of their community.” Nick did his best to find a logical reason for joining the exodus and hid his disappointment. At times like this, loneliness weighed him down. He didn’t even know how these people would celebrate one of the major events of the year, the night of the shortest length of darkness.

  And he would so much like to feel a part of the lives of these people.

  At the abbey, the brothers and students would spend much of the lingering twilight in prayer and listening to Bible readings.

  “Not this year, Nick. There will be wild dancing around the
bonfire at the center of the stones. There will be feasting on wild boar—not Mammoch,” he added at Nick’s frown. “And mutton. Tough old animals that have wandered away from the flock. The people will welcome the moon and the sun in pagan rites.”

  Nick hung his head. “We of the Church and the Light cannot combat pagan rites unless we understand them.”

  “I know. Maybe next year. Tonight, you are needed elsewhere—for something very important.” Tuck caught his gaze with his own and directed him to look toward the west side of the clearing rather than north toward the stones.

  Little John paced nervously back and forth by the entry to a path. Will Scarlett examined his lute, tuned the strings, and plucked an annoying chord. Then he stuck the instrument into his pack and pulled out a flute. It, too, released an experimental trill, discordant to the lute. Without bothering with the concealment of the pack, Will passed his hand across the long reedlike instrument, and it shifted into a small harp.

  Robin shot an arrow into the air, watching it waver and fall, judging the distance and the breeze. Then he scowled, licked his finger, and held it up to determine the direction of the air movement. An eyeblink later he shrank into his gnome figure and shook his head.

  In his stag form, Herne the Huntsman pawed anxiously at the ground.

  “What?” Nick asked in wonder. He’d never seen the entire group gathered and succumbing to the same somber mood.

  “We travel far in a short amount of time,” Tuck answered.

  “For what purpose?” He knew, of course. He’d overheard enough discussion between Tuck and Little John to understand the purpose of tonight’s journey. He just didn’t know why he had to come along.

  Nick’s sandals didn’t fit right today. A frequent occurrence as he seemed to outgrow them every week or two. He doubted he could walk far with any speed or comfort. So he wanted to stay tonight, Midsummer Night’s Eve, to spend time with Hilde.

  “Tonight, the moons of both Earth and Faery align,” Tuck replied.

  “Oh.”

  “I am going with you,” Hilde said. She stood with her hands on her hips and feet planted wide, just like Dom did when he decided to be stubborn. It didn’t happen often, but Nick’s friend, so pliable most of the time, knew how to get his own way when he needed to. The only time he needed to avoid midnight chores and prayers were the nights he planned to visit his beloved sister.

  “This is no mission for one as young as you.” Robin stepped away from the knot of travelers discussing their plans. He placed his hands on her shoulders gently and engaged her gaze.

  “Don’t do that to me, Robin Goodfellow!” She turned her head away and looked at the ground rather than at Nick, Tuck, or Little John. “I’ve seen the way you entrance villagers and monks to share food and tools with you. They do it, then have no memory of doing it. I’m going with you.”

  “Why, Hilde?” Nick asked. He knew better than to argue with her. Arguments never worked on Dom either.

  “I know how to send the guards by the entrance to Faery to sleep.”

  “Like you did with Mammoch?” Nick asked. “Will that trick work on a faery?”

  “I don’t know. But you watched me gather the first of the wild redberries. I’ve packed them in leaves to keep them fresh. Those leaves are special. Human or fae, the guards will sleep.”

  “I don’t know,” Little John said. “Do faeries even eat human food?”

  “Doubtful,” Tuck replied, chewing his lip. “But the aroma of the berries in her pockets is making me want to sleep.”

  “Then give me the berries,” Little John said. He crouched and began drawing a map in the dirt with twigs and rocks as landmarks.

  “No. I go, or you fend for yourself.” Hilde turned her back on the men and made as if to follow the villagers toward the standing stones.

  “Sir.” Nick tugged on Tuck’s sleeve to gain his attention. “If the faeries don’t eat human food, then we’ll need her to put them to sleep in her own way.”

  Tuck sank into a moment of deep contemplation. “Nick is right, Little John. You have no power or influence over the faeries as long as they are inside their Mound. We need the girl.”

  “Besides, after years of enslavement, Jane may not trust us. We could be just another faery illusion. She’s more likely to trust another woman; believe that we are human and real,” Robin said.

  Nick took Hilde’s arm and brought her the three steps back to the group.

  Inside Nick’s mind he heard Elena chuckle. You are learning, silly boy. Observe others to sense what they truly need. Hilde needs to be a part of your adventures as her brother never did. Jane needs to learn trust again. To trust herself as much as your friends. She has lived with illusion too long.

  “If I’m going to deal with faeries, I guess this will be an impediment.” Hilde lifted a leather thong with a wooden disk dangling from it over her head.

  Tuck grabbed the disk, enclosing it in his hand. “How long have you had this?” He closed his eyes tightly, as if he could read the carving by thought alone.

  “Always,” Hilde replied. “Mum gave it to me when I was but a babe. Dom had one, too, identical.” She grabbed it away from the old man. “I think we teethed on them.”

  “What is it?” Nick asked, stepping closer to see the carved talisman. He’d seen others like it worn by villagers and Henry. But not on Dom.

  “This is what stands between common folk and the Wild Folk,” Tuck said sadly.

  “An itinerant priest came to our village once a year. We weren’t within an easy walk of a church or monastery. He blessed our charms each year. It hasn’t had a blessing since I left home. Sister Mary Margaret said I didn’t need it anymore, that my prayers within the convent would protect me from forest evils better than this homemade thing.” She ran her thumb over the carvings, knotted chains of some sort, then placed it in her pocket, along with the berries.

  “A very old practice. Not common anymore,” Tuck said. His fingers twitched as if he needed to reach out and hold the disk a bit longer. “The blessing is actually a rough spell. Your priest may have had a bit of magic in him, but untutored, barely noted. He acted on instinct rather than knowledge. The spell would wear thin in time. All it did was prevent you from seeing the true Wild Folk beneath the human guise. Unseen, unknown. Protection for you from wild magic. Protection for us from persecution.”

  “Is it of any use now?” Hilde asked.

  “Only as much as you give it,” Tuck replied. “Common folk do not expect to see the Wild Folk, so they don’t, wearing a recently blessed charm or not.”

  “We have a long way to go in a short amount of time,” Robin Goodfellow said, starting along a path Little John had paced before. It seemed to open wider and clearer with each of his steps.

  “We have little time on this shortest night of the year,” Little John proclaimed, looking along the path with eyes focused on a far distant point. Without another word, he scooped up Nick and set him on his right shoulder. Hilde went onto his broad left shoulder. Tuck jumped aboard Herne, appearing as a magnificent twelve-point stag. They galloped off. John looked askance at Robin and shook his head. “You have your own magic, Robin Goodfellow. Get there as you can.”

  Then the forest giant set off with long strides that ate up a league in just a few steps.

  Nick gasped at the speed, wondering if his soul could keep up with the swift movement of his body.

  Twenty-Nine

  Little John watched the moon. A faint silver glimmering on the horizon appeared too soon. The Faery Mound remained a small lump in the far distance. He was running out of time.

  Jane was running out of time.

  Movement fluttered around his left ear. He raised his fist to bat away whatever insect dared bother him.

  “Hey!” Hilde cried as her two hands wrapped around his fist.

  “Oh, sorry
,” he apologized. “Must have been your skirts waving in the wind.”

  But when he thought about it, she wore heavy gray wool. Her robe wouldn’t lift in the slight wind of their passage across the valley between the lines of hills.

  “It’s me, trying to get your attention,” the faery Bracken said. He moved forward on long bouncy strides, letting his wings lengthen his step.

  “What do you need? I thought I left you in the sacred circle,” John replied.

  “You need my help to get inside the Faery Mound.”

  “No, I don’t. I have a plan and people to help me implement it.”

  “Whatever your plan, you cannot anticipate all of Queen Mab’s traps. You won’t get beyond the first corridor.”

  “Why would you help us against your own people?” Nick asked from John’s other shoulder.

  “Because I have listened to the trees gossip with the wind. Queen Mab has condemned me to exile, with no possibility of reprieve. I . . . no faery can survive long outside the Mound. We must return to the Starfire or we fade away to nothing. We become . . . we lose substance and exist as only a memory or an extra chill in the breeze.”

  “Starfire? You mentioned that when we were in the pit,” Nick mused.

  Little John decided he needed to listen to this conversation. He snagged one of his fingers into the back of the winged man’s shirt and hoisted him along with the others. Tuck, Will Scarlett, and Robin Goodfellow would come in their own time, with their own traveling magic.

  “We do not speak of it outside the Mound. It is forbidden.”

  “You are forbidden inside the Mound,” Nick reminded him.

  Bracken took a deep breath and looked around for eavesdroppers. Then he settled his glance on the ground. “There is a great yellow stone—many stones fused together actually—that fell from the sky at the beginning of time. We combined the stones to make them more powerful, then built the Mound around them with an opening to the stars. Every time new stones fall to the ground, we gather them and add them to the original. They stick together and become one as if they were all a part of each other before they fell and need to join together again. The stone is now huge. From time to time the noon sun shines through the opening and sets the stone afire with light. We bathe in the shooting strands of Starfire and it renews us.”