Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  Something pulled at Aren’s bootstrap.

  “What the stars?” He looked down and lifted his leg, ready to kick, when he recognized the gnome with whom he had broken bread. Its dirt-laden hands tugged at the worn leather bootstrap, nearly unbuckling it. “Quit it! Stop pulling on me.” Aren nudged at the gnome with his toe, trying to push it away, but it kept pulling back.

  “Ka’bu a’ali gy-id.” The gnome was tugging on Aren’s trousers now, and Aren grabbed at the waist to keep them up.

  “Stop it!” He lowered himself to the gnome’s height and gripped its round, meaty shoulders. “Pretraun, was it? Whatever language you speak sounds bastardized with Old Magic, and my Old Magic knowledge is that of an infant’s. You need to speak slower.” Pretraun stared up at Aren with droopy, watery eyes. Aren wasn’t sure if he had made it cry, but when it broke out in a huge grin, Aren was ready to shake the mites out of it.

  Taking no notice of his frustration, Pretraun moved Aren’s hands away with the patience of a parent teaching a child. It pointed at a golden brown mushroom. Aren’s eyes followed as the gnome’s stubby finger pointed at another mushroom next to it. Next to that was another with a fringe and then another and another in a radius that encompassed the whole of the clearing.

  “Ka’bu a’ali gy-id,” Pretraun said again.

  Aren’s eyes widened. He didn’t have to follow the full sweep of the gnome’s arm before he realized what he had stepped into. “F-f-f…” the air escaped between Aren’s teeth and lips. “Faerie ring!”

  Pretraun clapped as if Aren had just won a contest, and Aren leaped out of the circle of mushrooms, then jerked his chin up to look at the sky—or what he could imagine of it. The shower of light had thinned. It couldn’t be dusk already; this was the summer season, and the sun would remain high well into the evening. Aren looked back into the ring, which seemed darker and more mysterious now. The good news was he didn’t hear anything other than what was already in his head—no laughter or chimes or singing. And it wasn’t so dark that anything could properly luminesce, which was, as all the scrolls and books would tell you, one of the main reasons the faeries came out at night: to luminesce.

  Pretraun watched Aren with a silly grin peeking through its beard. “A’alin,” it grunted.

  Aren faced the gnome, furrowing his brows. “I don’t have time to decipher your words. If you want to help, then find Selina.” He wiped at his brow with the rolled sleeve of his shirt. “Why is it so hot in here?”

  Pretraun squatted to expose the ridged underside of a mushroom. It had begun to take on a fiery-orange glow in the center. Aren’s eyes widened with horror. Tiede Wood was about to awaken, and he and Selina were lost.

  EIGHT

  Selina always had the same dreams: rain and trees and light and shadow, all in shades of gray. But on the night before she was to accompany Aren on his fishing trip, she dreamt of a small silver stream cutting through the darkness of Tiede Wood like a glowing liquid glass. Strange purple flowers floated along the surface, tiny dancers twirling in the eddies, beckoning her to join them. Selina watched herself step into the water and slip into a vast nothingness. The water swirled around her, smooth and thick like the rich silk and velvet drapes in the Library where Aren worked. Then, she was falling through the night sky, stars streaming alongside her, falling forever through the velvet black.

  When she woke that morning, Selina wondered what had caused her to dream such a thing. She had no idea what any of it meant, but she liked not dreaming of rain and trees for once. She toyed with the images in her head, puzzling them out, making sense of it all only after Pretraun had spoken his funny words. Bring the flower to the stream, and she will give you healing waters. Her dream had been a message. It all made sense now.

  Selina examined a thick patch of deep purple leindra flowers, listening to Aren calling to her from far away. He was yelling something about Pretraun being his friend. She wished he would calm down; he was going to make his headache worse. Still, she was glad that he and Pretraun were getting along. She turned her attention back to the leindra flowers, making sure not to inhale them. She had learned about the flower from Aren once, when he was forced to study a book about plants. He had said something about how it could make a person sick if you breathed too much of it. Even at a distance, she could distinguish its clean, dizzying scent.

  Selina felt the air warming around her, and the flowers rustled, preparing for night. She had to hurry so she could protect Aren from the faeries. They might want to keep him if they found him, and with all the noise he was making, he would be easy to find. She plucked one bloom from the leindra shrub. Now that she had the flower, it would lead her to the stream. She walked towards the sounds of rustling leaves and gossiping dragonflies, careful not to crush any of the glowing mushrooms.

  After seemingly circling around the same group of mossy boulders several times, she reached a clearing. She couldn’t hear Aren calling anymore; her ears were filled with the calming sound of water, and her eyes widened at the sight of the small, gurgling spring opening up into a thin stream. The clearing was lit with a warm, soft-orange glow; the trees sparkled as millions of peppermint fireflies flittered through the leaves, little flames rising and falling all around her.

  “Did you bring me a gift, little one?”

  The gentle voice caught her off guard, and Selina’s mouth opened to form an O when the lady to whom the voice belonged stepped into the clearing. The lady’s skin took on the warmth of the firefly light, and her long black hair hung like silk past her waist. A thin gown the color of wispy clouds wrapped loosely around her slender figure, the fabric trailing on the moss and dirt and leaves, following her like water flowing down her back. Her bare feet stepped into the creek, and Selina could not make out where the lady ended and the water began.

  The lady beckoned and Selina stepped forward and held up the leindra flower, finding it difficult to look away from those blue eyes, which looked like the Laithe at sunrise, when the water seemed as if it were covered in a layer of diamond dust. The lady brought the flower to her lips and took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she did so. Then she tucked the purple flower into her hair and bent at the waist to cup Selina’s face and place a kiss on her forehead, whispering words that Selina didn’t understand. The world seemed to melt and disappear around her, and Selina felt as though she had tumbled over Tiede Falls.

  “I need the water for Aren. He’s sick and I need to bring him the water.” Selina’s eyes closed as a question escaped her. Her head reeled with images that made her feel suffocated and uneasy. Images of rain and trees and shadows seemed to cloud everything. “Am I dreaming again?”

  “It’s all just a dream, little one,” the lady cooed, stroking Selina’s hair. “I’ve put you through so much, made you try to remember so many things.” How long had it been? Selina felt weightless and heavy all at once. It was like floating on water, being carried along so effortlessly with the possibility of drowning looming over you. The lady’s voice cut into Selina’s thoughts with urgency. “Selina, when you open your eyes, find Aren and run. The Wood is about to wake up, and I can’t help you here.”

  NINE

  Aren found Selina lying in a small clearing surrounded by a ring of mushrooms. Actually, Pretraun was the one who found her, but it was Aren who braved stepping into the faerie ring to pull her out. Pretraun was too busy dropping to his knees and touching the ground with his forehead. Aren rolled his eyes; he had no idea why this odd creature insisted on accompanying them.

  “Sacred,” Selina breathed as Aren carried her away from the glowing mushrooms. He set her down, then crouched beside her to check her face, hands, and arms for any scratches or wounds. He couldn’t see much in the eerie glow of the Wood, but she seemed all right. “I’m sorry, Aren. I don’t have the water; I think it was just a dream. I’m not sure anymore.”

  Aren kissed her forehead, satisfied that she hadn’t been hurt. “Don’t ever run away from me like that again.
I’m running around a cursed forest, and you’re napping in a faerie ring. Stars, you’re going to send me to an early grave!” She looked up at him with big, sorrowful eyes. “Selina, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but I’ll be fine as long as we get out of here. My headaches are being drowned out by the fear of being trapped in this Wood forever, and then there’s your gnome friend, who said he’d help us, but I’m not sure he could find his own toes. We’re lost, but we have to keep moving. The Wood is about to wake up.” Selina gasped, then tried to run off. Aren grabbed her skinny arms. She seemed somewhere between excitement and panic. “What’s gotten into you, Selina? Didn’t you hear a word I just said? We need to stay together,” he said, squeezing her.

  “But I met a lady.” Selina’s eyes were wide, crazed. Aren was confused. The Wood’s magic shouldn’t work on her; she was still a child. “The lady was in the stream, and I gave her a flower. She said we had to run…”

  Aren stood up, keeping a firm hold on Selina’s hand. Pretraun had rejoined them and was pointing one way then another while mumbling something incomprehensible. “You can tell me about the lady in your dream later,” Aren said, wondering if the gnome was trying to give them directions. “Now’s not time for ghost stories—”

  “It’s no story!” Selina protested.

  Aren cut her off with a raised hand and glanced at Pretraun, who must have also sensed something odd because he had stopped talking as well. There was a rustling nearby, and Pretraun crouched as if facing a horned gree: feet planted, knees bent, arms out to deflect if necessary. When the creature’s head broke through the shrubbery, Pretraun stood up at once, and pushed at his companions, making frantic gestures and crying out orders. It was not a horned gree.

  Aren deciphered all he needed to know: Run.

  TEN

  Aren stared in shock as the creature stepped into view. It wasn’t the large wildcat that Pretraun had prepared to ward off. This beast was as tall as a carriage, its muscled flanks a brilliant white contrasted against the Wood’s darkness. A mane of a million silken threads draped its neck and hung tangled over silver eyes. Vapor escaped its nostrils like a freed spirit, twisting up and dancing around the ivory horn. The word barely escaped Aren’s lips: “Unicorn.”

  “D’naragon!” Pretraun pushed harder at their legs.

  Finally, Aren grabbed Selina’s wrist and took off, half dragging her with no route. They were lost, but that wasn’t as bad as being skewered by a unicorn. A mist was gathering, rolling over the ground like the tide around their ankles. Aren feared they might drown in it, and he paused to scoop up Selina, slinging her over his back, where she clung without question to his neck. Every once in a while he could feel her head turn, and he knew she was looking for the gnome. Aren considered dropping the staff, since they’d already lost the pack, but he held onto it anyway; the weapon could be helpful.

  The unicorn hadn’t moved yet. It was squealing and stomping as if it had been just as surprised as Aren and Selina were. Aren was thankful for the head start; they would need every second they could get. It was difficult to see where he was going, but the mist seemed to move to create a path for them to follow. Aren dodged trees and rocks, and leapt into and out of faerie rings, hoping that he would be fast enough to jump out of each one. He spared a second to chuckle at the thought of daring to stampede through the magical rings, which, it was rumored, could trap you in the Wood forever.

  The unicorn was moving now, and Aren could feel the vibrations race over the ground. Selina was crying; he could feel her sobbing against his neck. He would get her out of here. This was just a forest. There was an end to this Wood if you just kept going. If he chose to believe in anything at all, he had to believe that.

  Aren couldn’t remember ever pushing himself this hard in such a small span of time. Even when he was sent to the Fighters Guild to earn his mark, he had spent years training and conditioning. Today, he’d had to run miles over obstacles and in darkness while carrying a child, a pack, and a staff. His head was pounding, and he felt as though his legs might give out. Twice he had stumbled—on a rock and a raised tree root—almost falling to the ground, but he caught himself, inspired by the angry thudding of hooves behind them. He wondered which would be the preferred way to die: being stomped or skewered. It sounded bloody either way.

  Then Aren spotted it: the break in the tree line and the light of the setting sun bleeding beyond it. He squeezed Selina’s calves and gave her a shove to boost her further up on his back. He was going to put everything he had into this final sprint and hope that he didn’t trip over his own feet. The sound of the unicorn tearing up the brush was just behind them, but there were too many trees for the beast to navigate, and the mist seemed to close behind them to provide cover. The voices in Aren’s head had silenced themselves.

  The Wood’s edge was so close now, teasing, laughing. If this were some optical trickery or hallucination, so be it. Aren would run for the edge until his lungs dried out. He mustered every ounce of adrenaline he had left and pushed harder, but when the shadow stepped in front of him, Selina screamed. Aren’s instincts took over, and he brought the staff up two-handed and horizontal, holding it away from his chest to drive through the obstacle. He rammed the staff into the shadow, but the force wasn’t enough to push them out of the Wood, and the shadow leaned in to take the impact, grabbing the staff so that he and Aren were both holding it, trying to wrestle it from each other.

  Aren was surprised to see that the mage was young, somewhere around his own age, maybe his early twenties. A blade had recently licked the mage’s grizzled, ashen face and neck. Long gashes peeled the skin back, bone showing in places, and Aren realized how hard Henrik had fought for his life and to gain control of the staff to protect Tiede. Aren and the mage were pushing and pulling on the staff, kicking up dirt and dead leaves. Aren’s heart was hammering, and he kept forcing them towards the Wood’s edge. They could continue fighting out there, away from this Wood, so that he could breathe. The sound of hooves disturbing the forest floor was getting closer.

  “Let go of my staff, Tiede, or I’ll burn you like I did your friend,” the mage growled, his breath close and hot and smelling like rotting meat.

  “Hold tight, Selina!” Aren said through gritted teeth, ignoring the man’s threats.

  The symbols on the staff were beginning to glow red, and Aren could feel the power the mage was summoning. In less than a minute, magic would explode between them, killing them all in the blast. Aren grunted, then put all of his weight into turning them around so that he and Selina were closer to the tree line, facing into the Wood. Selina cried out as Aren lost his balance. Aren stumbled backwards, using the fall’s momentum to pull away from the mage and clear the Wood. Aren managed to retain hold of the staff as they separated, and Selina let go of his neck before they fell, landing on her feet before stumbling and hitting the ground. The magic in the staff dissipated, returning to wherever it had come from.

  In the space where they had been standing only seconds before, a spiraled horn, stained and dripping red, tore through the white mist in a large upward sweep, displaying the mage’s body impaled upon it. His arms dangled lifelessly, and Aren caught a glimpse of a strange leaf tattooed onto his skin. Selina screamed, and scrambled over to where Aren lay. He got to his knees, kept Selina behind him, and hoped that the stories were true: that the creature couldn’t cross. The unicorn snorted, tossing the dead mage aside before stamping its hooves in a tantrum. After a final shake of its ivory mane, it turned back in the direction from which it had come, disappearing into the fog and trees. Aren collapsed onto his back and stared up at the darkening sky, trying to get air back into his burning lungs.

  Selina wiped the tears from her face with the palms of her hands. “Pretraun,” she sniffled.

  Aren sighed and sat up, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He’s a tough little guy.” He wasn’t quite sure what else to say to make her feel better. “Sweetheart, we’re safer now, but
we have no supplies, and night is falling. We’ve got to move away from here and find a safer spot to rest.” She crawled onto Aren’s lap and cried into his chest. He stroked her hair, feeling guilty and helpless. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  When Aren had regained enough energy, he carried Selina away, following the road north. Emotional exhaustion overtook her along the way, and when he felt they were far enough from the carnage the unicorn had left behind, he chose a spot by the side of the road where they could sleep. The night had been swift in its arrival. He laid Selina down on the soft grass and placed the staff next to himself. Then he covered her with his vest after emptying the pockets. He had coins, a tin of fire magic, a piece of graphite, his small notebook, and the message. The parchment was crumpled and smeared with dirt and sweat. He ran a thumb over the wax imprint and found that it was no longer sealed.

  He looked to see if Selina was still asleep, then glanced around to see if anyone was nearby, though he knew they were alone. In the Wood, strange lights bobbled through the darkness; discordant songs mingled with the laughter drifting through the trees. He hesitated, then slipped his finger under the broken seal, unfolding the message. The words seemed to rearrange themselves, and he closed his eyes to will his headache away.

  Aren took a deep breath, opened his eyes, then read the entire message under the glowing light of the rising moon. When he had finished, he tucked the parchment away and lay back in the grass, wondering if he’d be able to fall asleep. He had escaped a mage, a unicorn, and Tiede Wood, yet his bones felt something waiting, something looming just beyond reach, biding its time, waiting for just the right moment to take him back into the darkness. What did they want from him? He might give it if they asked nicely—after he delivered the message.