by David Estes
“You’re not scared of the ore monkeys?” Gareth said, an amused look on his face.
“You think this is funny?” Roan said. “We could starve to death in this forsaken place.”
“My apologies, Your Highness,” Gareth said, smirking. “It was merely a quip, which was obviously in bad taste. I wasn’t aware of the thorns stuck up your—”
“Shut it, you fools,” Gwen said. “I thought I heard something.”
“Like Gareth’s sense of humor shriveling up and dying?” Roan said. “And don’t call me ‘Your Highness.’”
“Am I mistaken? Are you not the heir to the western throne?”
“No more than you’re the heir to the eastern crown, Your Highness.”
“I’m supposed to be dead!”
“I saved your life!”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
Gwen punched Gareth. Hard. He cringed, massaging his shoulder.
Roan started to laugh, but then she punched him, too. Even harder, or at least so he suspected. He was about to protest, but then he heard it, too. A sound, carrying over the rustling leaves and creaking branches. Someone was singing.
“What the bloody hell is that?” Gareth said.
“Someone singing,” Roan said. Gareth glared at him. “You ask a dumb question…”
“If you two don’t cease your infernal bickering, I will seal your lips with ore the next time we’re in Ironwood.”
Roan was fairly certain he would never return to the ore forest, but he didn’t want to risk it. “Where is it coming from?” The sound rose up again, louder this time. It was melodious, beautiful, full of hope and life and love, but mournful, too, a sadness so deep it seemed to settle into Roan’s skin and bones.
Gwen and Gareth, once more, pointed in opposite directions. Roan didn’t agree with either of them. He thought the voice was coming from out of the ground, or perhaps from somewhere high above, almost like the sound was all around them. No, in them.
“Why would someone be singing in the middle of the Tangle?” Gareth asked.
“I don’t know, but I think we should find out who it is,” Roan said. As soon as he said it, the idea seemed to take root in his mind, and he could think of nothing else. “This way. We’re close.” He dove into the brush, oblivious to the spiky branches and thorns that slashed his skin.
He heard Gareth say something behind him, about exploring in a different direction, and Gwen shouted for both of them to “Stop!” but her command bounced off of Roan’s ears, which could only listen to the words of the song, which seemed to flood through his soul:
Once there was a maiden in Tanglewood’s Keep,
Resting her head on moss and fern leaf.
Wishing for one to sweep her away,
Break her chains and lead her astray.
Where are the valiant, where are the brave?
The handsome king with a maiden to save?
If he passes the test he can have her love,
Tender as a lamb and pure as a dove.
As the song ended, Roan felt as if a piece of him had been hacked off and stripped away, leaving him empty inside. He redoubled his pace, plunging ahead through branch and leaf, thorn and vine, slapping the barriers away, bouncing off of spiky trees, until—
The ground seemed to sink away from his feet, leaving him hanging in midair, tangled in something that gripped his arms and legs. He fought it, not because he was scared, but because he needed to continue toward whomever was singing, needed it like he needed blood in his veins, air in his lungs, water in his throat…
The voice came back to him, closer now, tantalizingly close.
Welcome, handsome king. You are just in time.
The voice was as clear as a burbling spring, as strong as a lion’s roar, as melodious as birdsong. Somewhere in his mind, Roan was aware that the voice was not spoken out loud, but in his head, sliding through his skull.
He peered through the gaps in the net, for that’s what he was caught in, not of rope, but of vine, as if the trees themselves had conspired against him. But he didn’t care, not one wit, because the bearer of the song, of the voice, appeared beneath him.
Her gown was a thousand flowers of many colors, golden threads binding them, like rays of sunlight captured and stitched together. Her face was the green of leaf, her hair a blanket of moss, crowned with a nest of thorns. In the hollow of her throat hung several silver lockets, dangling from a necklace constructed of seeds strung together.
“How can I help you?” Roan asked, despite the fact that it was he who was a captive. He stopped trying to fight through the net, which was no longer of consequence to him, not while this angel of the wood stood beneath him. Not while she spoke his name with such reverence.
Roan Loren.
Distantly, he wondered how she knew who he was, but the concern flitted away on the gentle breeze.
Something crashed through the forest, bursting into the clearing, broken branches and tattered leaves clinging to shirt and trousers. Gareth. What is that fool doing here? Roan thought. “Leave us,” he said. “I am helping her.”
Gareth snarled at him. “I am helping her!”
The woman laughed, and the sound was like approaching rainfall. Roan felt himself melt into a puddle. You can both help me. You are both the handsome, brave kings in my song.
A muffled voice cried from elsewhere in the wood. “Roan! Gareth! You fools! Where are you?”
The voice was familiar to Roan, but sounded rougher, like bark scraping against his ears. He didn’t want her to find them. What was her name again? He couldn’t remember, but that didn’t matter. He wanted only to be here, to be close to the woman of the forest, to be her hero, her handsome, brave king.
The net that held him drifted to the ground, and slowly released him. Gareth strode up to him, drawing his sword. “Back off,” he growled.
Though Roan had abhorred violence his entire life, he wanted to dismantle the prince piece by piece. He had no weapons, so his fists would have to do. He swung at Gareth, who ducked, slashing his blade across Roan’s midsection. The edge caught a loose bit of clothing, which fluttered to the ground like a wounded bird. Roan aimed another punch…
“Stop!” Gwendolyn commanded, grabbing his arm from behind, holding him back. She twisted Roan’s arm behind his back, but he barely felt the bite of pain, because he needed to get to the green-faced woman, needed to be her brave king, needed to—
Gwendolyn swung around him and blocked a blow from Gareth’s sword with her iron bow, which she then fitted with an arrow, firing swiftly at the woman.
No! Roan screamed in his head, but the woman had already lifted a shield of thick bark, blocking the arrow, which imbedded itself harmlessly in the wood. She extended her hand and vines shot from her fingertips, grabbing Gwen’s bow and wrenching it out of her grasp. Gwen tried to flee, but the vines had already wrapped around her arms and legs, too, tightening, circling around her body like cloth around a mummy, until only her face was visible.
In the confusion, Roan saw an opportunity, rushing at Gareth and tackling him to the ground. Gareth lost his sword, but managed to roll, pinning Roan beneath him. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”
“Not if I kill you first,” Roan declared, kicking hard, bucking Gareth to the side. He snatched the sword from the ground, lifted it, and brought it down toward the prince’s face.
Stop. Though the word was naught but a whisper, Roan felt its power in the very marrow of his bones. His arm froze, the sword’s edge close enough to shave the stubble from Gareth’s cheeks.
Gwendolyn muttered something about how they didn’t listen to her when she told them to stop. Apparently she could hear the woman’s voice in her head, too, a thought that made Roan insanely jealous.
My heroes. My brave kings. I think I will keep you both.
“What do you mean ‘keep them’?” Gwen said. And then: “Oh ore, you’re a wood nymph, aren’t you?”
Sh
ut your mouth, Orian! Though it was clear to Roan that the words were spoken in anger, they were as soothing as gentle waves lapping against a sandy shore. This does not concern you.
“These are my friends, nymph, so aye, it concerns me.”
And yet you have no power here. This is my domain. I have no use for you. However, because I am merciful, I will permit you to return home to Ironwood. Now go or I’ll be forced to kill you.
The vines slithered away from Gwendolyn’s body, returning into the woman’s fingertips. Roan was captivated. Gwen, however, didn’t move. “Roan, Gareth, this woman is a liar and a witch. She has cast a spell on you with her song. Fight it. She can’t take you if you don’t want her to.”
But Roan did want her to take him. It’s all he wanted. “Go,” he said. “Leave us. We will be safe here.”
“Aye,” Gareth agreed. “Return home, as she said. Ironwood is where you belong.”
“Well, if that’s what you want…” Gwen turned and started to walk away, but then twisted around sharply and flung herself at the woman with inhuman speed, her heromark flaring on her cheek.
Roan and Gareth both dove to stop her at the same time, but were too slow. The woman—the nymph Gwen had called her, whatever that meant—was faster, however, shooting vines upward. They wrapped around a branch and she swung out of harm’s way.
Gwen flew beneath her, landing horizontally, her feet planted on the trunk of a tree. She rebounded off, sprinted over to Roan and Gareth, and grabbed each of them by the collar and dragged them from the clearing.
They fought her every step, scratching and clawing and digging their boots into the dirt. “Stop it, you idiots!” she shouted, her cheeks blooming with lines of blood from their nails, as if she’d been clawed by an ore cat. As she manhandled them away, however, trees blocked their path, their trunks bristling with poisonous spikes.
And then she was there, the nymph, her dress swirling around her like a tornado of many colors, the resulting wind so powerful it halted them in their tracks. While they struggled against Gwen, she held them behind her back with strong ironclad arms.
“I recognize you,” Gwen said.
Really, young Orian? What would the daughter of the late great Boronis Storm know of me?
“You are Felicity, eldest daughter of Dressara, Queen of the Wood Nymphs.”
Yessss. Clever girl. But my mother is gone now, just like your father. Did you know your father loved me once?
“Liar!”
It’s true. He couldn’t take his eyes off of me.
“Because you beguiled him.”
And what do you think love is? He would’ve been mine, if not for your horrid mother. Talk about a seductress…
“You know nothing of my mother.”
And neither do you, it seems. She deserved what she got, just like my dear mother. She was so arrogant she thought she would live forever. But I had different plans…
“You killed her,” Gwen said.
Roan could hear the words, but they were meaningless as he struggled against Gwen’s iron grip. “Lemme go!”
“Me too!” Gareth shouted.
My mother had her time. Now it is my time. I am the queen.
“You had four sisters,” Gwen said. “Did you kill them, too?”
The nymph’s laugh was as spectacular as a rainbow. I would have, but I didn’t have to. They gave me their lockets freely, once they saw what I’d done to dear mother. Now they are just another part of the wood, sleeping beauties. My rule over the Tangle is total. Why do you think you’re unable to find your way through?
Gwen reversed, pushing Roan and Gareth deeper into the wood, until the spiked trees were almost touching their backs. Gareth hissed. Roan growled.
Give them to me, the nymph said. My soul is hungry, and they are mine. You can still walk away, Orian. What do you care for two humans? They are nothing to our kinds. Their lives will fade away long before we are gone.
“I am nothing like you,” Gwen said. She shoved Roan and Gareth back and, once more, launched herself at the nymph. This time the woman was prepared for both the speed and ferocity of the attack. A wall of vines rose up, swarming around Gwen and pinning her. Thorns burst from the tentacles, and Gwen screamed as they bit into her skin.
Something twisted in Roan’s gut hearing his friend’s cry, but then the woman spoke again and it was all he could focus on. Come hither, my brave kings, she said. And we shall be as one.
As one. The very thought of being a part of the woman sent Roan into a frenzy.
Apparently it had a similar effect on Gareth, because they stumbled and fought each other like two young boys showing off for a beautiful lady. In the end, they arrived in front of her at the exact same moment. She smiled at them, and Roan found himself smiling back so broadly it hurt. He’d found his purpose in life: pleasing this woman.
Gwendolyn screamed again, and Roan felt that twisting in his gut, but he didn’t look back, caught in the nymph’s eyes, which were bright green and glowing, piercing him like twin daggers. She reached down and opened one of her lockets. Inside was a small mirror. Look, she said.
“No!” Gwen yelled. “Close your—” Her warning disintegrated into a piercing shriek of pain.
Roan and Gareth’s heads smashed together as they fought to be the first to look in the mirror, but neither registered the pain, because images were taking shape, twisting and turning and pushing their way into their minds.
Images of human men and women smiling, jumping, performing heroic feats in honor of this woman of the forest. They were happy. So happy. Roan wanted to be like them. He wanted to be one of the many.
Then Roan saw only himself, reaching forward with a hand…
From somewhere that seemed impossibly far away, Gwen was screaming for him to “Fight it, fight it, fight it!” but all he wanted was to take his own hand, to let his reflection pull him into that place where he would be loved by the most spectacular woman he had ever laid eyes on. He would be her brave king. Yes. Yes, he would.
He touched the face of the mirror, and then he was gone, along with Gareth, who’d done the same.
One by one the men and women in the mirror fell, writhing in pain, thorny vines twisting around them. Screams filled the air. The ground opened up and swallowed them, their cries vanishing as dirt filled their mouths.
Only Roan and Gareth were left, blinking, staring at each other across a wasteland.
A voice echoed from the sky, and it was no longer pleasing to Roan’s ears. No, it was like a hammer, pounding him from above, driving him like a nail into the ground, making him feel smaller. Smaller than he’d ever felt, a mere shade of the man he once was.
My brave kings. Now you are mine.
Gareth said, “What have we done?”
Roan shook his head. He remembered the way he’d felt as he looked in the mirror, how good it felt, how perfect…
“She enchanted us. We didn’t have a choice.” Ahead of Roan, there was an enormous glassy surface, shimmering in the wan light. The inside of the mirror, he realized. We’re inside her locket. The realization sent chills down his spine. “Oh gods, we’re trapped.”
“We could’ve been stronger. We could’ve fought her, like Gwen told us to.”
Roan knew he was right. They were weak. Just when he thought he was finally moving forward, controlling the direction of his own life, he’d tumbled headlong into a spider’s web.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” Gareth muttered. He took a step forward across the rocky terrain. Cracks formed where he stepped. Mist swirled around his ankles.
“No, you shouldn’t. You should be king.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Gareth took another step. More cracks. More swirling mist. “I shouldn’t be alive. I was meant to die. This is your fault.”
Roan shook his head. “That better be the enchantment talking. I saved your life. If you had died, you still would’ve been a failed Shield. Guy was already dead.” Roan was aware of t
he nastiness in his voice, but he didn’t care. This ungrateful prince had crossed the line too many times.
“You coward!” Gareth shouted, launching himself at Roan. Roan twisted away and they went down in a heap. Gareth punched him twice in the ribs, and Roan kneed him hard in the gut. Gareth gasped and Roan rolled away, getting to his feet.
“Stop. This is ridiculous. We have to figure out how to get out of this.”
Breathing heavily and clutching his stomach, Gareth said, “You’re right.”
Roan extended a hand to help him up, and Gareth accepted it. Just as Roan started to pull him to his feet, Gareth yanked back, throwing him off balance. He swept Roan’s legs out from under him and pounced on top, landing blows to his jaw, his lips, his nose.
Roan snuck an arm between the barrage, shoving his fingers into Gareth’s eyes. The prince howled and fell back. Roan used his advantage to press his knees into the prince’s chest, wrapping his hands around his neck. Anger coursed through him, flowing from head to neck to chest, and into his arms and hands, which tightened.
Gareth tried to suck in a breath, but couldn’t. His arms and legs flopped to either side, trying to gain purchase on Roan’s skin, but finding none. His face was red, his eyes wide and fearful.
But then he stopped fighting, and a resigned expression formed. This was what he wanted—this was what he thought he deserved.
Roan hated himself in that moment. He hated the anger inside him, hated the violence he was capable of, just like any other bloodthirsty man in the realm. He should’ve turned the other cheek when Gareth hit him, should’ve let him do as he would, until all of his fury was extinguished.
Roan released him and Gareth gasped, coughing, his hands automatically coming up to rub his sore neck, where fierce red handprints were already forming. “No,” he rasped. “Don’t stop. Please. Finish me. End me.”
“No,” Roan said, scooting closer. Slowly, tenderly, he cradled Gareth Ironclad’s head in the crook of his arm. The urge to hurt him had been replaced by a much more tender feeling. “I saved you because you are worthy of life. More worthy than I. I saved you because you are my friend.”
