Northwoods Magic (Northwoods Fairy Tales Book 1)

by Desiree Lafawn

  Either Corbin’s intention of seeing the old man was so strong that he bypassed whatever wards he had in place, or the old man had been expecting him.

  He was pretty sure it was the latter.

  Corbin stomped up to the front of the small cabin, roof covered in moss and greenery that made it blend in with the forest, and saw the old man sitting on the porch. He had his bare feet propped on the porch rails, a hand rolled smoke clamped between his lips and he wore a grin not unlike the cat that ate the canary.

  His smiling face pissed Corbin off.

  So everyone had known? Miss Benny had known Quinn was coming and even the old man had known as well? Apparently, by the unsurprised look on his face, he had known something was up. Corbin had never been able to find him so quickly, and here the old man was, smoking his pipe in the middle of the woods, looking happier than a pig in shit. Corbin could never get one over on the old man; he was just a human after all, and the green man had powerful magic. So he did the only thing that he knew would get under the old man’s skin. It had always irritated the hell out of the geezer when he did this, so Corbin kept it in his pocket for when he had had just about enough of the forest elements bullshit.

  “Good evening, Father.” He was proud of himself; he actually got it out without cracking a humorless smile, and even though there was nothing funny about it, he really wanted to laugh. Calling the old man any version of Dad got under his skin like nothing else.

  The green man’s grin disappeared, and his bushy gray eyebrows drew together in annoyance. “Not your father, Boy!” he bellowed, deep voice shaking the air around Corbin.

  The old man was riled up tonight, he thought to himself. Maybe he ought to tread lightly. Apparently, everyone was on edge this evening, himself included. He probably should give up on digging in the old man's ribs if he wanted any answers, and before the sun rose on another day, Corbin was going to get those answers.

  He stepped onto the porch and plopped onto an upturned barrel. Corbin couldn’t remember having ever seen the inside of the cabin, it was always just the porch, and that was if he was lucky enough to find the cabin in the first place. The porch was never the same either. Sometimes it was just a slab of hard packed dirt with a welcome mat made of soft green moss, which was hysterical because the old man hated being around people and pretty much gave the middle finger to visitors in general. Sometimes it was a lovely wooden wraparound, freshly painted white. Other times, like tonight, it was a squat platform with full wooden boards and a rickety railing made of rough-hewn branches woven together in a basket weave. One thing though remained the same no matter how the porch appeared. There was always only one, plain wooden rocking chair. Sometimes there was an old crate to sit on, once there was even an upside down galvanized metal bucket. Tonight, it was an old wooden barrel that Corbin had to perch his butt on, one cheek hanging on for dear life so he didn’t go headfirst off the back end. It was as if the old man was saying I’ll hear you out, Boy, but don’t get comfortable because you aren’t going to be here long.

  As soon as his butt hit the barrel, though, the seat smoothed out, cradling his rear and extended up behind his back, supporting him where he sat. Before he could even think about what was happening or move out of the way, he was seated in a comfortably worn rocker, identical to the one next to him. This was new to Corbin, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. This meant that he needed to be comfortable for a while, that maybe the old man had a lot to say. The old man never had a lot to say, and the whole situation made Corbin nervous.

  “So I saw your girlfriend this afternoon,” said the old man mildly, and his words immediately got under Corbin’s skin.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you she isn’t my girlfriend, Old Man,” Corbin’s lip curled in disgust, “and can you please be serious right now?”

  He shot Corbin a dark look from under his heavy eyebrows, crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed, “I have a long story to tell, Boy, and I don’t do story time. I don’t know how to conversate, and truth be told, I really don’t like it. If I could just shoot the information into your head like a laser beam, I would do that, but that isn't in my skill set, so if you could do me the kind favor of sitting still and shutting up, I would ever so appreciate it.”

  Corbin sat still and shut up.

  “I saw her today on her way up the mountain. I wasn’t going to talk to her, but something isn’t right with her. She doesn’t smell right, she doesn’t look good, and her power is out of control. It’s almost like she doesn’t know what to do with it, and I can’t see how that can be after all this time. Even if she didn’t have anybody to teach her what to do, surely she must have figured something out by now. That power didn’t just happen to her; she was born with it, regardless of whether she knew it was there or not. That’s like a little boy checking out his goods for the first time. He doesn’t know what it’s for, but you can be sure that when the time comes to be a man, he figures it out just fine. It's been so long, and she hasn’t figured it out yet. She smells sick, Boy. Sick and scared.”

  The old man took a long drag on his cigarette, and when he saw that he would get no interruptions from Corbin, he continued his story.

  “Now, you can tell me you don’t care about her and that she doesn’t mean a thing to you, but I know better. I was here watching you all this time. I saw you grieve for your missing wings and try to grow into your man's body without knowing how. I did the best I could, Boy, but I’m barely a man myself. I’m a creature of nature; I don’t know much about human feelings, not in the way that counts. I didn’t have the knowledge to give that to you, and that’s why you had Bernadine. She gave you the heart that you got in your chest, and I know that it was breaking. You bonded to that girl in the forest that day, Boy; you know that, right?”

  Corbin didn’t answer. He didn’t think he was meant to. He didn’t suppose he had an answer to give the old man that would be different than what he was saying, so he just kept his lips pressed into a grim line and waited for the old man to continue. He did wonder briefly how kindly Miss Benny would take to being called Bernadine since he knew she hated that name, but he didn’t think the old man much cared about the preferences of others. The green man did whatever the hell he wanted, and Corbin was probably lucky he got away with just being called “Boy” most of the time.

  “There was a reason you were able to bond with her like you did in such a short amount of time. Like attracts like. You were a creature of the forest, and way back in her bloodline, too far for her to even know, she was, too. The spark was so small to see even I couldn’t tell right away, but after that familiar almost killed her, that power must have reacted instinctively. She’s got to be some sort of nymph, at least with the powers I saw. Born a human girl, but somewhere way back, her bloodline was mixed with that of the fae and her ties to earth magic are strong. I smelled it on her that day, Boy. You think that she changed you, but in reality, you are the one that pulled the power out of her. You may have been initially attracted to her because of her nymph magic, a lot of creatures are, and she probably didn’t even know she was doing it, but your change? That was all you. You wanted it so badly, you were so desperate to help her, that you made a wish on the lifeblood that was soaking into the dirt and her magic heard you. Your fates are tied tight, Boy. So very tight, it had to have felt like a thousand deaths when she left, it HAD to hurt. I’m in the dark about why she left as much as you are, but she was never going to stay gone. Like attracts like, and you can’t run from a blood bond. She’s sick, Boy. You are going be sick, too, if you don’t both go about healing. For both of you. Sickness like this kind spreads, and she’s running from herself. I don’t know why anyone would be scared of themselves, but if she’s going to run, you put yourself in her path. You let her run right to you, and you two figure it out because this isn’t just about a girl and a raven anymore. This affects the whole forest.”

  That got Corbin’s renewed attention, and he turned his head
to look at the old man. At some point he had allowed his head to rest in his hands, letting the old man’s words pour over him like a cleansing rain. He couldn’t argue with most of it since it was true, but the green man seemed to be unnaturally concerned with the outcome of the whole affair, and it was really against his nature to be so involved in the trials of humans.

  “I have something I need to show you, Boy.”

  Corbin didn’t know if he wanted to see what the old man had to show him. He was feeling ill in the pit of his stomach and overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. The old man didn’t volunteer information, and he didn’t show things. The old man did whatever the hell he wanted to and screw anyone else. The fact that he wanted to be so giving with information now did not sit well with Corbin.

  The old man sat up and walked off the flat wooden porch, gesturing for Corbin to follow, and as soon as he stepped off the last wooden step, the scenery around him changed. It was like Corbin had walked off the porch and into an entirely different part of the forest. He hated when the old man did that, it made his stomach flip-flop like he was on a roller coaster. The old man walked off a few feet and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast and studying something that looked like a small crumpled pile in the dirt at his feet.

  “This is what I mean about a problem bigger than the two of you.”

  Corbin did not want to see what was lying on the ground at the green man’s feet, but he walked over to stand by him anyway. When he did force himself to look down, he almost didn’t recognize what he was looking at, eyes refusing to acknowledge what was right there in front of him.

  There in the soft brown dirt, covered in pine needles and other fallen foliage, lay a dead raven, in such perfect condition it seemed petrified instead of deceased. The only indication that the bird was not alive was the absolute stillness with which it lay on the ground and the gaping empty sockets where the raven’s eyes used to be. Corbin looked up at the green man but spoke no words as he solemnly waited for an explanation, his rage a slow burn in the core of his body.

  The green man never looked up but instead cleared his throat and softly said “Ten.” He turned his head and his eyes locked with Corbin’s. “That’s the tenth body I have found this way, and if that isn’t bad enough, there is one more thing to show you.” He picked up a stick from the ground, and with just the barest of pressure, laid it upon the raven’s eyeless corpse. It shattered immediately into black and gray particles, dispersing in the air until they were gone completely, leaving no trace.

  Corbin stepped back, nose wrinkling in disgust as he was faced with a familiar odor. One that he hadn’t scented in almost ten years, the smell of ashes and scorched things. He had smelled cooking fires and campfires. Hell, he had even helped put out a few small forest fires around the lodge from ding dong guests who didn’t follow basic rules of the outdoors, but it had never smelled like this. This kind of fire and ash burned unclean, and the scent in the air was heavy with decay. Corbin remembered that smell, and the memory made the blood turn to ice in his veins. Maybe his heart even stopped beating for a moment because all of a sudden, it lurched in his chest like a car engine turning over, spluttering to get the blood pumping again.

  Quinn was back at the lodge after ten years, and coincidentally, an unnamed evil ghost cloud from the past was coming back and killing ravens? Corbin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

  What a bunch of bullshit.

  Quinn squinted her eyes against the afternoon sun and peered up at the sky through her spread fingers. The sun felt warm on her face, and even though it was just a dream, she relished the feeling of the breeze in her hair and the smell of the vibrant forest around her. Quinn liked this dream, and she should know, she had experienced it many times in the past ten years. It was a beautiful dream, a dream of the “before” time. Quinn settled herself on the flat expanse of rock that jutted out of the forest floor. It was round on the top with a little divot in the middle just perfect for her then sixteen-year-old bum to plop into and get marginally comfortable. Quinn felt to her left and rummaged her hand into the old single strap backpack she had brought with her; it had all of her supplies that she liked to carry and included her purple sketchpad, pencils, a bottle of water, and lunch from the main lodge kitchen. She pulled out her drawing supplies and set them aside; what she needed first was in the brown bag. Quinn would get to sketch in a little bit, but first she needed to lure her subject matter to her. People made fun of her for eating like she did, but egg salad sandwiches were the bomb, and Miss Benny (Lodge Owner and self-proclaimed mistress of the kitchen) made the best damn egg salad sandwiches in the state. Probably the world, even. Being only sixteen years old, Quinn’s world was still pretty small, but anyone who could make food like Miss Benny did attained walk of fame celebrity status in her book.

  Peeling back the wax paper that had been folded into a neat square, she took out the first sandwich triangle. Grinning at the little squoosh of sunny egg that peeked out of the side nestled on a bright green ruffle of bib lettuce, Quinn ripped off the corner and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly to savor the flavors before swallowing, satisfied. She ripped off another bite, closer to the crust this time, and paused when she heard a scritch-scritch noise coming from a lower branch on the tree in front of her. Quinn grinned, after coming to this same spot day in and day out for the entirety of the summer vacation, she knew what would bring her friend running, and she was not disappointed.

  “Hello, boy,” she softly whispered. Quinn knew better than to raise her voice, but even though she said it softly, he heard her and knew she was speaking to him. If the happiness in her voice wasn’t enough, dream Quinn felt her smile stretch across her face and reach the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks almost hurt with how glad she was to see her friend. This was their special time, their secret time, and she loved it more than anyone could know.

  The raven was magnificent. He was artistry of tone on tone from the sleek matte black of his feathers to soft satin of his beak. His eyes seemed almost the same black as the rest of him, but when the sun hit just right, she could tell they were a rich, dark brown with a ring of copper around the outside. Quinn had never seen eyes like that before, and for her bird friend to have them made him even more special to her. He cocked his head at her in a way that she had become accustomed to, and Quinn held as still as she could, waiting for him to decide if he was going to come to her. With a flap of his wings and a lift of his wedge-shaped tail feathers, the raven rose from his branch and landed on the ground a few feet away from where she sat. He kept his head cocked to the side, eyeing her up with those obsidian orbs that she knew were actually looking at the bit of sandwich she had grasped lightly in her fingers. With a light chuckle, Quinn set the piece of sandwich down on the rock beside her and slowly started counting to ten in her head. Before she hit five there was the rustle of feathers again, and her boy was perched on the seat next to her, bits of egg hanging off the side of his beak as he tipped his head back and gulped the food down. Quinn sat quietly in her place, making no sudden movements. She didn’t want to spook him and cause him to leave her; he was still a wild animal, and Quinn wasn’t an idiot. If she played her cards right, (and after weeks of playing this game with him, Quinn was sure she had figured out how to win her hand), they would share the sandwich together. Quinn would continue ripping pieces off, either popping them in her mouth or setting them down on the rock next to her. When the food was gone, and he was sure she wasn’t holding out more on him, he would preen about on the branches in front of her or on the forest floor, letting her sketch him until it was time for her to return to the cabins.

  That was the rule with her foster parents. You could wander wherever you wanted during the day, but you must always be home for dinner. Sometimes her foster parents took a day canoe trip, sometimes they went hiking the mountain trails, Quinn always came to draw with her raven, and they always met back at the cabin for dinner. Dream Qu
inn sighed inwardly; it wouldn’t be that nice forever, but for now, in the dream where she was just a girl again, she could remember when it was.

  Abruptly the warmth of the sun disappeared, and the breeze that had combed playfully through Quinn's long brown hair suddenly turned bitey and mean. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she wasn’t surprised, mostly sad. This was the part of the dream she hated, it was what came between the “before” time and the “now.” Quinn’s dreams always ended this way, with the accident. She could enjoy her time right up to a certain point, but when the wind kicked up, and the tree branches started creaking, that was the precursor to when the bad thing happened. They hadn’t even gotten to finish their lunch, much less get to drawing, and from the creaking and crunching of the branches above her, Quinn knew her dream time with her raven was up.

  It always ended this way. The large branch that had been hanging on by a dead wooden thread would snap with the force of the wind. She would hear the noise, lift her head to see the log come hurtling at her upturned face, and as soon as contact was inevitable, she would close her eyes and wake from her dream, always soaked with sweat and sometimes even crying. It wouldn’t hurt though, and as she closed her eyes for impact, her last feeling was regret that she only got to spend such a short time with her raven boy. Teenage dream Quinn was frightened, and adult Quinn in the back of her mind wished she could calm her, even though it was a hopeless task. She didn’t remember what happened immediately after the accident anyway because she had woken in the hospital, so the dream always ended here, seconds before impact. Quinn would wake up, she would feel no physical pain, and she would live to have some version of the same dream again and again and again. Sometimes Quinn thought she remembered someone else in the forest with her besides her raven, but she chalked it up to a fuzzy delusion brought on by her myriad of prescribed medications. That was the way it had been for ten frustrating years, and that was how it always would be until Quinn got the answers she needed.