It’s not chasing me… it’s following me.
No longer afraid, she climbed at a more cautious pace toward a circle of bright sky overhead that grew larger and larger. Mawr reached his mammoth paw as deep as he could, and as soon as Emma got close enough, she grabbed on. The bear swept her out of the former well and deposited her on the soft green of the faerie-forest floor.
Dirtfall reached the top of the pit with a dull whump, spitting a cloud of soil into the air. The carpet-like coating of plant matter and moss that covered everything in this place grew to hide the bare patch in seconds, as if the pit had never existed.
“What happened?” Emma gazed around at the lack of grass. Roperoot trees crisscrossed the entire area where the village had been. “Did I dream a village was here?”
Mawr reared back on his hind legs and shrugged. “The people all stopped moving at the same time… and they faded away, their houses as well.”
Neema paced a circle around the former well, scratching her head. “Belong here not the deep well. You sitting in hole make stay the pit. Healed the forest did.”
“The well wasn’t supposed to be here?” Emma stood and crept over. She poked at the earth with a toe. The place where she’d been deep underground felt as solid as everywhere else. “You’re saying the forest waited for me to climb out?”
“Magic.” Neema flailed her arms. “You stone heavy sheet in like. Lift stone sheet flat become.”
“Umm.” Emma frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Trying to figure out whatever happened here would not get her home any faster. “We should keep going.”
Mawr bowed so she could climb on his back, and they walked onward for another almost-hour. When it got too dark to see the trees ten feet in front of them, he stopped for the night and lay down. Emma stretched out on his back as if he were an enormous furry bed, and Neema snuggled up at her side.
She ate two more cakes and spent a while lying there, unable to sleep. The strong flavor of berry remained in her mouth long after she’d finished her meal. Thick tree cover blocked out the stars, leaving her in complete darkness save for the soft glow from Neema’s wings. Emma stayed on her back for a time before curling on her side. That didn’t help her sleep, so she rolled onto her belly and rested her head on folded arms. The wet-dog smell of Mawr’s fur filled her nose, and despite the gentle up-and-down motion of his breathing, she still could not sleep.
Kimber didn’t cling to her back. Tam didn’t flop over top of her. Da’s snoring didn’t fill in the silence with his comforting presence. Mama’s arm lay far out of easy reach to grab in the event of a scary dream. None of them knew where she’d gone.
Emma sniffled. The desire to go home built up to painful, but she’d promised to help the faeries.
“Emma?” whispered Mawr. “What troubles you?”
“I miss my family.”
Mawr’s body vibrated with a long, deep yawn. “I shall watch over you until you are home again, little one.”
She rolled onto her back, fingers laced behind her head. A minty-leafy fragrance lofted by on a gentle breeze that made the bear’s shaggy fur tickle her legs. “They’re going to be worried because I’m missing and they don’t know where I am.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t―”
“Few minutes,” chirped Neema.
“What?” Emma rolled her head to the left, staring at the faerie. “You keep saying a few minutes, but I have been here for two days.”
Neema sat up, a soft bell-tone emanating from her wings when they moved, and shook her head, flinging her gossamer silver-white hair back and forth. “Working not the same way does time in Faerie Realm. Circle magic Neema good at.” She beamed. “Worried is not your family.”
Emma furrowed her eyebrows. The faerie didn’t seem in any way deceitful. “All right.”
After a yawn, Emma snuggled into Mawr’s fur. She focused on the deep rumble of his breathing, and the slow rise and fall of her furry bed. Neema curled up beneath her chin, making Emma squirm and grin at the tickle of little breaths upon her neck. She may be off on an adventure (foolish or stupid, she had yet to decide), but she was not alone.
he journey brought Emma deeper and deeper into the vast fey wood the next day. Mawr walked without protest, following the direction Neema pointed. Trees gradually changed with each passing mile, their branches growing narrower, leaves becoming long, thin strands that dangled like the hair of forest giants. Sunlight filtered past the thinning canopy, lending the world an intense glowing green, though she still could not tell where exactly the daystar lurked overhead.
She guessed it to be afternoon when a dense white mist came into view up ahead. The low-lying cloud slithered among the trees like a living thing, perhaps chest-deep on her were she not atop the back of a huge bear. Soon after Mawr’s great paws entered the fog, Emma coughed on a stink like spoiled meat. Two breaths later, the awfulness in the air reminded her of dumping out a chamber pot. This part of the forest smelled like the outhouse on a summer day. She gathered her dress over her mouth and nose.
Neema leapt from Mawr’s snoot to land on Emma’s shoulder. “Open keep your eyes. Is danger Darbolg has in lots.”
“Darbolg?” asked Emma.
Sloshing water made her look down. Mawr’s forelegs vanished to the elbows amid nasty grey water. Bubbles popped at random, each releasing more of the strange mist into the air. Emma shied away from the bear’s side, and tucked her feet under her in warm fur.
“Swamp is Darbolg.” Neema pointed around. “Conjurer on other side lives. Knows faeries afraid here.”
Glops of brown and green floated by, dead leaves and rust-colored moss. Emma gazed at the fog, which concealed the shadowy forms of trees barely thirty feet away. She figured the bad smell came from rotting plants and whatever else died in the water. Feeling sorry for Mawr having to touch such dreadful things, she stroked the fur atop his head.
“Mmm,” said Mawr.
The rhythm of his stride ceased. Confused at the trees continuing to move past them despite his seeming still, Emma looked down again. Foul water came up near his shoulders, leaving her sitting upon a drifting island of bear. He paddled along, swimming. Evidently, the water here had become so deep even this great creature could not reach bottom without diving under.
Emma gulped as a ripple went by on the left, a hint of snake scales visible. “Uhh… I think I saw a snake.”
“Snakes will not bother me,” said Mawr. “I am too big for them to find tasty.”
Neema let out an “eep” and climbed under the hem of Emma’s dress, hiding. Shivering faerie wings tickled her thighs, but she couldn’t find the urge to laugh. She fidgeted instead, attempting to comfort the tiny woman with a pat.
“Eating will me one bite in snake do,” whined Neema.
Emma stared at the water, but couldn’t find any trace of a serpent. “I won’t let a snake eat you.”
A deep, droning buzz raced up from behind.
She whirled around and locked stares with a furry black wasp bigger than a housecat. Bright orange compound eyes regarded her with little detectable emotion. Emma bit back the urge to scream, especially at the sight of a dagger-sized stinger, also bright orange.
“Hello,” whispered Emma. “Please be real.”
The wasp’s head rotated left, then right in rapid, precise motions. “Real. Yes. I real.” His stinger throbbed, bobbing in and out of his rear end as if he couldn’t wait to stab something. A droplet of transparent red liquid gathered at the tip.
“Please don’t sting me.” Emma smiled. “We aren’t here to hurt your nest. I don’t even know where it is.”
“Hunting for lightmoth,” said the wasp. “I will not attack you if you are polite. Did you see one? I thought I saw one over here.”
“Neema, there’s a big wasp here looking for a lightmoth. What is that?”
At the word ‘lightmoth,’ Neema trembled, making Emma jump and squeak from the tickle of faerie wings.
The wasp looked around. “A moth that makes light. My favorite food.”
She whirled about at another buzz from in front. A gleaming green beetle glided in to land upon Mawr’s head. Nan had baked loaves of bread smaller than the beetle. It settled down like a nesting bird, a sharp click coming from hard shell plates closing over folded wings. Aside from being huge, and shiny metallic green, its overall shape reminded her of a ladybug.
“Hello,” said the beetle, in a feminine voice.
The wasp drifted closer and picked at Emma’s hair with his mouthparts. A steady breeze from huge thrumming wings cooled her head.
All the muscles in her back locked. “Umm. What are you doing?”
“Smelling you. Curious.” The wasp backed off a few inches. “I saw light. Thought a moth here, but do not smell lightmoth on you. I know your smell now.” His mouthparts clicked. “Stay away from nest, yes?”
Still rigid, Emma nodded. “I do not want to bother your nest, but I don’t know where it is. If I get too close, it’s an accident.”
The wasp glided around in front of her, flying backward to match the pace of Mawr’s swimming. “Nest is that way.” He pivoted, pointing with his stinger to Emma’s left.
She turned her head to look in that direction. What at first she thought to be a distant tree obscured by fog and surrounded by hundreds of floating, glowing spots, clarified in the mist to a paper-wasp hive bigger than some of the houses back home. At least one of the tunnels leading into it looked wide enough for her to crawl into. The moving orange lights shone from the eyes of forty or more wasps as big as the one hovering next to her.
“No. I am not going near that.” Never. No matter what. No.
The wasp offered one leg. “Agreed.”
Emma gingerly grasped the tip and ‘shook hands’ with him.
At that, he tilted forward and drifted away into the fog, toward the nest.
“Hello,” said the beetle. “I am so tired from flying. I’ve lost my way and need to rest. I hope you don’t mind.”
Mawr grumphed.
“Hello.” Emma smiled. Despite her size, a giant ladybug didn’t scare her anywhere near as much as a wasp with a ten-inch-long stinger.
Loud buzzing from the fog on the right preceded a trio of bugs that resembled longflies, only about three times as big. One carried a mouse, which flailed and screamed for help. Emma looked away. She felt horrible for the little rodent, but who was she to decide his life meant more than the giant longflies’ lives? Hurting the insects to spare the mouse or watching him carried off to be eaten felt equally bad.
The bear swam under a patch of swamp covered in dense-packed trees that bowed toward the ill-smelling water. Branches overhead formed a tunnel, with walls of willow strands. She reached out to touch the hanging thread-like leaves, which cascaded over her arm like the hair of a giant. Fog wafted about in puffs and whorls, dancing in the breeze.
Her moment of morose thinking about the mouse came to an abrupt halt as a thick, muscular coil wrapped around her in an instant, crushing her arms against her sides and lifting her off Mawr’s back into a tree above them. Neema slid down her leg and clung to her left ankle, sitting on her foot.
Emma screamed, and struggled to breathe in afterward. She stared down in a panic at several bands around her middle covered in a diamond pattern of scales, black on green. The serpent’s embrace tightened in a gradual squeezing, the coils sliding past each other in alternating directions.
She lifted her head and came nose to nose with a snake so large she had no doubt it could swallow her. The length around her appeared to be the thinnest part of its long tail. Its huge body draped over several branches, as it would surely break a single one.
Mawr stopped swimming and growled while treading water. He tried to stand on his hind legs, but sank out of sight with a startled bellow. The beetle floated on the water for a second, opened its shell, stretched out its filament wings, and lumbered into the air. Seconds later, Mawr surfaced in a flailing fit and roared in frustration.
“Mmm,” said the snake, flicking his white tongue at her. “I have never had this before. You smell divine.”
“Please don’t eat me,” wheezed Emma.
The snake blinked, as if surprised she could talk. His shock wore off fast, and he narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m only a child.”
He flicked his tongue at her nose again. “If you are a child as you say, than I would not be able to eat one of your kind when they are full size. All the more reason to taste when I can.” He grinned.
Mawr paddled to the tree trunk and pulled himself up to stand on the tiny island from which it grew.
“You really shouldn’t eat me,” rasped Emma. She struggled to push her arms outward to get a little more air in her chest, but couldn’t move.
“Oh, and why is that?” His forked tongue flicked at her cheek. “Mmm. Oh, yes, you do taste rather delicious.”
Mawr stood on his hind legs, looming up taller than eye-level with Emma behind the snake.
“Because Mawr will get angry.”
“What is Mawr?” asked the snake.
“Mawr is behind you.” Emma gulped.
“Behind me.” The snake rolled his eyes. “I’ve never heard that before.”
Mawr growled.
The snake lowered his head, peering at the bear while upside down.
Mawr bared his teeth, snarling.
The snake lifted his head again to look at Emma, eyes wide. “You bring up an excellent point.”
His tail uncoiled as fast as it had snatched her. Emma tried to scream as she fell straight down into the water, but didn’t have enough air inside her to make more than a squeak. She went under for mere seconds before revulsion propelled her to the surface, where she paddled, keeping her legs tucked, afraid of putting her feet down in some horrible slime. A second after she gasped for air, Neema landed on her head.
Emma tried to stare up at her, eyebrows flattening. “Why are you sitting on my head?”
“Bright fly makes wings. See wasps will. Lightmoth think me!”
As disgusting as it was to swim in, the water had a comfortable warmth, even if it would leave her hair stinking of rotting vegetation. Mawr gave the snake a final threatening growl before sliding into the water once more. Emma wasted no time pulling herself up onto his back. She sat as she had before, with her legs tucked to one side, wet and miserable.
Not that she minded the wet, but the smell…
Mawr continued swimming for the better part of the day. Emma fidgeted at her dress, wiped at her legs and arms, trying to rub off the nasty water that had long ago dried. Her hair remained sticky and she felt in desperate need of a proper bath. She couldn’t tell over the overwhelming stench in the air, but felt certain that the same smell clung to her.
Perhaps an hour after leaving the snake behind, the bear made a meal of a few fish-like creatures. Emma couldn’t watch, not so much for the idea of him eating them, but because they looked more like slime blobs with eyes than actual fish. Hearing the bear’s contented “mmm” noises while chewing almost made her throw up.
Soon after the daylight showed signs of fading to evening, the lilting sound of a flute carried on the breeze. Emma sat taller, peering in the direction of an island up ahead where the fog did not cover as thick.
“What’s that music?” asked Emma.
Neema shrugged. “Faerie not.”
“It will be dark soon. Mawr’s been swimming all day. We should rest.” She pointed at the island. “That place looks big enough. Is it safe?”
Neema zipped across the water, zigzagged for a moment, and returned. “Safe looks.”
“I would not mind a rest,” said Mawr, his deep voice vibrating in her legs.
Mawr steered toward the spot, eventually ris
ing from the water as his paws found earth. He grunted, pulled himself up onto land, and trudged onto the island. Emma slid to the ground with a squish, sinking to the ankles in muddy grass, surrounded by trails of water pouring out from the bear’s fur. She stretched and yawned.
“Allow me a moment.” Mawr wandered off to the left. At a safe distance, he shimmied, throwing a rainstorm of droplets in all directions.
Emma walked forward, heading in the direction of the island’s center, hoping the ground dried out a bit more if she got far enough away from the water. Old stone up ahead suggested an ancient building of some kind had once stood here. A section of archway, a toppled column, and dozens of loose blocks littered the ground, all covered in a healthy amount of moss and ivy. The odd flute playing continued, louder, off to the right.
“Hello?” Emma approached the arch, and braced her hand on it to peer around at a wide clearing covered in lush grass and dotted with wildflowers. A huge fallen log lay at the edge of the woods on the other side ahead of her. Behind it, a tuft of chestnut-brown hair bobbed about, only the head of a small figure visible above the massive hunk of wood. Every now and then, a glimpse of a bare human shoulder peeked out as they weaved side to side in time with the song.
At the end of the clearing to her right, a bowl-shaped nest large enough for a wagon-sized chicken to sleep on hung between three trees. All manner of random shiny objects collected around it: stones, silver plates, a handful of knives, coins, and something that sparkled like a gemstone.
Emma crept across the clearing, approaching what appeared to be a boy standing with his back to her. “Hello?”
The flute playing stopped. The boy turned to look at her. Long, wild hair hung past his shoulders, framing a face she found most enchanting. Bright amber eyes held the innocence of a boy, but his roguish smile seemed like that of an older man. His nose, thin and pointed, matched his tapered chin and made her think of the elven man she’d seen at the Feast of Zaravex. His thick hair concealed his ears, so she couldn’t tell if they came to points as well. At the sight of her, he grinned.
Emma and the Silverbell Faeries Page 14
