With a gurgling roar, the goblin grabbed the spear and lumbered upright. Emma backed up, casting hesitant glances at the ground. In the span of three steps, she became more afraid of stepping in another glue trap with a live goblin nearby than the idea of trying to kill one. He wasn’t any taller than Rydh Cooper, and she’d thumped him good. Emma glanced at the dagger. Killing was a lot different from thumping, but the goblin wasn’t giving her much choice. She wanted to run, but one misplaced step in a glue snare would be the end of her.
She held her ground, holding the trembling knife out to the side. Her body shook, her mouth went dry, and the sound of her breathing drowned out the goblin’s yowls. The urge to call for Father tightened the lump in her throat, but it gave her an idea. She took a deep breath and let out a lupine howl that sounded like a wounded pup.
The goblin raised the spear, tilting his head in confusion at her sudden aggressive pose. He smiled, and came storming up to her in an ungainly waddle, teeth bared and spear raised.
“Me likes stupid foods. No have ta runs.”
Emma’s toes gripped the dirt; she stared at the tip of the spear moving toward her. She’d let it swing first, duck, and get in close, like Father taught the guards. Her knuckles turned white on the dagger handle. She stopped breathing as it came within striking distance. At the last second before Emma flung herself into a desperate attack, a look of complete dread washed over the pudgy menace and the goblin’s skin went from green to grey. The spear clattered to the ground as he flailed his arms in an effort to shield his face. After a wheeze, his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over backwards.
Emma glanced at her dagger with a raised eyebrow. If not for the change of color, she would have thought the creature’s inexplicable collapse another “goblin promise.” She crept closer and poked him with her toe. The body was cold.
Dead.
Widowswood had gone quiet. Not a single bird or cricket chirped.
“Emma,” said Father, right behind her.
Something was wrong. The voice wasn’t right. Too slow, too deep, too cruel. She squeezed and released the dagger’s leather-wrapped handle. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Her hair slid over her shoulders as she turned and stared up into the glowing eyes of the Banderwigh.
oosebumps crept over Emma’s arms as she backed away from the silhouette of a shaggy man, taller than Father, face shadowed save for two hollow eyes of pale amber. The only other color on the figure was the silver-blue head of a giant two-handed axe strapped to its back. Old and weathered, the wooden handle looked like a thick tree branch, worn polished by many years of use.
Emma glanced at her dagger, and put it back in the sheath hanging from the rope around her waist. It wouldn’t help. She stood as firm as her shivering body could, amazed at herself for the show of courage.
“I’m not afraid of you. You won’t make me sad.”
The Banderwigh slung its axe from its back, shining blade swinging past the ground with a heavy whoosh as it sailed in an arc, caught by its other hand. Emma could not help but stare at the gleaming metal. He held the weapon sideways across his waist, knuckles creaking, and took a step closer.
“I won’t let you hurt my family!” Emma leaned toward him, trying to project anger. “Stop making them sleep!”
Cold surrounded the once-man, a biting chill drawing all warmth from everything within an arm’s length. He stopped close enough for her to feel it, and looked down at her.
“I know you won’t hurt me. You just want to eat my sadness.” Emma pointed at his face. “Go away!”
The first noise he made started indistinct from the wind, but grew into a howl of pure hatred. He reared back, raising the axe. Emma’s courage faltered―she scrambled away. Fury ripped the air, a cry that chased birds from trees all around them. She shrieked and flung herself to the ground.
Skiff.
Emma shuddered at the reflection of her face on the mirror that appeared embedded in the dirt four inches from her nose. The scent of moist dirt filled her nostrils as her breaths fogged on the side of the huge axe. She flattened her palms on the ground, not moving until the shiny blade pulled away, rising into the air with clods of dirt falling from the sides. Emma rolled over, crawling through mulch, too panicked to stand. A loud crack followed another ponderous whoosh, announcing the death of a small tree inches behind her.
“Eep!” She rolled over into a half-sit, pointing. “Y-you’re j-just t-trying to scare―”
Her words became screams. She jumped back as he slammed the axe into the ground between her knees.
She put a hand over her heart, where the blade would have landed if she had not moved. The Banderwigh grunted; the obvious effort taken to dislodge the weapon from the ground was the last clue she needed. He did not want to abduct her.
He wanted revenge.
Her backwards crabwalk turned into a crawl as she flipped over. A warbling squeal escaped her throat as she gathered her legs under her and ran. She crossed her arms in front to absorb whipping vines, heedless of the threat of goblin glue traps in her panic. Emma leapt through small gaps between trees hoping the creature could not follow, but whenever she risked a glance, he was there.
Trees shot by on both sides. Twigs, branches, and pinecones splintered and crunched behind her, accompanied by the occasional grunt and swoosh of a blade. A faint nip through her trailing hair finally pulled a scream free from her lungs, and gave her a surge of speed. She hit a tree head-on, catching her weight on both hands and flinging herself around the trunk not two seconds before the axe dug into the wood. She didn’t wait to watch him wrest it loose, and swerved left, sprinting along the path of an inch-deep creek for a moment until the sound of crashing rushed up behind her, drowning out the sound of her feet splashing.
Blinded by terror, she swerved right, raced towards a fallen tree, and jumped over it. No air remained to feed a shout when she found open space on the far side. She hit the soft, wet earth at the end of a drop a few times her height, and tumbled into a logroll down a steep, root-studded incline. At the bottom, she curled in a ball with her hands over her belly, where a gnarled knob had found her.
“Owowowowow,” she wailed.
Dirt fell on her legs. She flipped onto her back, staring up at the top of the ridge where the Banderwigh had paused. The pain vanished as a new wave of fear crashed over her, and she dragged herself towards a three-foot tall stump, which she used to pull herself upright. A roar echoed through the forest. She spun, the sound drawing her stunned gaze past the now-empty ridge into the air. The Banderwigh had leapt, axe over his head, sailing at her.
Her legs gave out and she fell hard on her seat with her back to the dead tree. Tattered bear-fur robes awash with arctic cold surrounded her in time with a deafening crunch above and behind her. Emma slid forward, shrinking away from the axe, but winding up almost lying on her back. The blade had split more than halfway through the ancient stump.
The monster stood over her, his tattered rags surrounding her like an impenetrable cage.
“P-please, don’t.” Emma tried to will herself to move, but all she could do was shake. “Y-you were a man once. You’re not evil.”
Uncontrolled rage seemed to dull, and the faintest trace of pupils appeared within the baleful yellow light in his eyes. Emma’s terror became shock. Nan was right! She chanced a smile.
“It’s the axe. It’s cursed!”
She extended a hand to touch him, but recoiled from the painful chill, cowering against the wood.
The Banderwigh tilted his head as if it no longer knew what to think of her. She held her hands up, hopeful. As if wounded by her hope, it roared. Rage warped his face and devoured the trace of humanity in his eyes. He thrashed at the handle, attempting to dislodge the axe.
Emma flailed, scrambling to her side and up onto all fours. With splinters falling on her from above, she fought her instincts and leapt through his cloak. Frost coated the backs of her arms as the
furs brushed her skin. Ignoring the burning cold, she sprang to her feet and sprinted in a random direction. The sound of crunching wood and growling grew distant. Minutes passed before her run staggered to a walk; her chest burned from breathing so hard. The forest here looked little different from anywhere else. Cloaked in the thick of night, Widowswood offered no clues as to which way was home.
Sweat ran down her face as exhaustion and terror wracked her with shivers. She reached out to grasp a tree, coming to a halt and leaning on it. I should hide. With a stifled grunt, she pushed off and trudged. Her legs ached and her feet hurt, but she forced herself onward. A clearing by a hollow log contained the remnants of an abandoned campfire, long burned out. A small pack sat propped up against the fetid wood. The dead tree was large enough for her to fit inside and seemed as good a place as any to seek shelter. Emma fell to her knees by the leather satchel and opened it to find a waterskin embedded in a mass of bug-infested rations. She brushed maggots and beetles away from the leather as she lifted it out of the foul-smelling ooze.
Whatever the food had been, it was so far gone she could not tell if it had been grain or meat. She uncorked the waterskin and sniffed, jerking her face away from the off-putting fragrance. As parched as she was, she knew whatever was in there would make her sick. Still, the tainted water was useful enough to wash the sticky residue of the goblin’s trap off her leg. With that done, she lay for a moment against the log, gazing at the stars. Too tired to stand, she crawled to the end of the dead tree and peeked. Termite grooves lined the inside, running among dozens of shelf mushrooms that also covered most of the outside. The fungus added an earthy fragrance to the wet wood. It was a far cry from her warm bed at home, but it would have to do.
Emma got one hand inside the damp mulch before the snapping of twigs startled her chest full of air. Two glowing yellow spots approached in the dark. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. How could she hide from a monster that just knew wherever she went? Emma forced herself up on protesting legs and scrambled off in an ungainly run.
“Daddy!” she wheezed, her attempt at a yell scratched out of her dry throat as a whisper.
The Banderwigh moved through the trees like a living shadow, unhindered by the dense growth that scratched at her legs and tugged at her dress. Her hands grasped at low-hanging foliage, tearing it out of her way as she clawed through the thickening forest. The hiss of an axe through the air made her swerve. A tough vine caught her across the instep, tripping her into a stumble that she barely prevented from becoming a pratfall.
Her body was about to quit. She could not keep running much longer. Maybe if it gets me, my family will be safe?
Emma glanced over her shoulder, thoughts of sacrifice in her mind. The look he gave her tugged at a survival instinct more primal than reason, and she forgot everything, even her own name. All that mattered was getting away.
The sound of running water ahead offered the promise of escape. Some of Nan’s faerie monsters hated rivers. Emma couldn’t remember which ones refused to cross, but it was more hope than she’d had a moment before. She ran across a trail, realizing it six steps into the brush on the far side. Skidding to a halt, she put her back to a tree. The Banderwigh was on her in seconds, axe poised. Emma flung herself to the ground as he swung, crawling under his arms and cringing at the resonating crack of metal on wood. A few seconds’ reprieve came as he worked the weapon free, giving her time to return to the clear path.
Without the hindrance of undergrowth, she pushed herself into a hard dash. It did not take long for the billowy black creature to fly onto the trail behind her. Thirty arduous steps later, the scent of water pulled her off the path. She whined as she strained, unsure if she would make it to the river’s edge before she passed out.
Ylithir help me!
No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than her next step found nothing but air. Emma shrieked as she crashed chest-first into the far side of a four-foot wide hole, the momentum of her run carrying her across. Fingers scrabbled uselessly through crumbling soil, and she slid into the dark.
The Banderwigh’s glowing eyes appeared in the hole, staring down at her―not that she noticed.
mma floated as if in midair. She knew her eyes were closed, but lacked the energy to open them. For some minutes, she did not try to move. Her body demanded rest, and her feeble attempts to deny it failed. Sleep seemed to come and go in brief fits. Something brushed her left calf, something furry and moving. She dreamed of rabbits and smiled.
Something scurried over her face.
Her eyes shot open to the sight of a cave ceiling covered in white strands. She tugged at her arms, finding them stuck and immobile. Lifting her head, she found herself lying on a massive spider web, arms above her head in the position she must have landed in. Six bright green spiders as big as dinner plates crawled over her, working extra silk around her body to keep her secured. Her head, hands, and feet were all she could move.
All the spiders froze in place when she screamed.
She stared down at the dagger on her belt, then up at her right arm wrapped in silk. Grunting, she tugged and squirmed. When the attempt to free her arm failed, she resorted to panic and thrashing. One of the spiders returned, baring its fangs an inch from her face. She screamed again, and fainted.
By the time she came to, the spiders were gone, but she was still stuck. In little patches, she could pull her skin away from the tacky substance, but trying to get other spots free got her stuck again. It was not as sticky as the goblin glue, but having it all over her body made it inescapable. Whimpering, Emma pulled with as much strength as she could summon, and got her right arm to slip two inches down. The effort exhausted her and she went still, breathing hard.
Twenty feet above, a round patch of starlight shrank as spiders repaired their trap door with webs, branches, and mulch. Emma clenched her jaw, straining again to get her arms free. Thick cords bunched about her elbow and wrist, refusing to let her arm move any farther. She gave up on her right and tugged at her left. She looked in the direction of that hand as she twisted and pulled. A previously meaningless lump of webbing shifted to reveal a withered man’s face. He looked like a skeleton covered by tight brown leather, face frozen in the shape of a final, terrified wail.
The trader’s friend.
She huffed and gasped, trying to get away from the corpse. Side to side she thrashed, pulling at her legs and trying to sit up. Driven on by mortal fear, several sharp yanks got her shoulders loose and she leaned up a little. Her arms remained stuck from the elbow forward. She pulled her legs inward for leverage, and wound up tilting to the side, staring down through the gauze-like haze. The spiders had built the web at an angle, fifteen feet above the ground. It tilted downward in the direction of her legs. She glanced up at the hole, wondering how many unfortunate creatures had found themselves stuck like her.
The sticky substance pulled at her hair when she turned her head, making her yelp in pain. A strand of web draped across her face, ignoring her attempt to puff it away. The answer to her question came when she looked past her feet at an underground cavern full of oval web bundles of various sizes.
Some had antlers protruding from the silk, while others looked like they contained goblins. Smaller ones, the size of boars and raccoons, were sealed with no indication of what was inside. She looked up at her arms, as far away from the dagger as they could be. Another round of squirming succeeded only in pulling her hair.
Her struggles came to an end as she caught sight of a thread of silk climbing the wall to a cave opening three feet above the top of the circular web, vibrating with the resonance of her attempt to free herself. Eight green spots lit with an eerie glow. Spiders feel the web moving… That’s how they know they caught a bug.
A form from her worst nightmare stuck four green-furred legs out of the hole and pulled itself into the weak moonlight. Four more legs dragged out behind it, uncurling one at a time to grasp cords of silk thicker than her wrist. The web s
huddered, bouncing her in place as the monstrous spider ambled sideways in a wide circle. It was the largest she had ever seen, with a body as big as a draft horse. Blind with terror, she rocked back and forth, kicking and thrashing. Screaming gave way to sobbing and crying out for her father.
Fur brushed the toes of her right foot and brought her still as a corpse. Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at it, whimpering. Fangs longer than a shortsword hovered over her, dripping with translucent green liquid. It swayed left and right, as if unsure what to make of its latest catch.
“Daddy… help,” she mewled, so quiet perhaps the spider did not even hear.
It shifted, leaning over her to inspect the silk holding her by the arms. She turned away from its underbelly, cringing at the sensation of silk tightening about her skin. Its most vulnerable spot was right above her face, but her dagger may as well have been on one of the moons. Her fear reached a point where it gave way to calm. As the spider tended to her other arm, securing her to the web, she wondered why the Banderwigh had not taken advantage of her helplessness.
Was it afraid of spiders too? The ridiculousness of the thought made her laugh.
The sudden burst of noise startled the immense spider, and it scurried back to hiss in her face. She screamed, shut her eyes, and strained to get away from it. The hiss faded to a bubbling rasp. It backed up, drew silk from its spinneret, and set to weaving sticky ropes around her midsection.
It’s going to wrap me up!
“Daddy!” she shrieked, again startling the creature.
It can hear me.
Any progress she had made in freeing herself was gone; now she felt more immobile than before. It would not take long before it would start adding more silk to cover her entire body. She screamed at it, trying her best to roar. It jumped and raised its fangs, but calmed when the sound was not followed by an attack.
Emma and the Banderwigh Page 15
