by Anthea Sharp
Claire knelt before the bed, the hood of her cloak thrown back over her shoulders. She reached forward and pulled Ethne into a hug.
“Thank you,” she said, her throat a little tight. “I promise to be careful, and I will return to you as soon as I can.”
With a final kiss to her aunt’s cheek, Claire headed for the door, coaxing a sleepy Onyx onto her shoulder. He sat with his bad leg pressed against her neck, so he could lean into her to keep from falling off, then fluffed his feathers before tucking his head beneath his wing to snooze.
Claire smiled and smoothed out his feathers.
“Absurd bird,” she crooned affectionately. “At least you’ll keep me company on this journey.”
Claire climbed the steep slope until she reached the foot of the trees, her hood covering her dark red hair. She gazed up at the looming forest, her heart kicking up its pace.
Just breathe, Claire. Only animals live in these woods. Don’t let the wild imaginations of the foolish valley folk convince you otherwise.
With a deep breath, she passed between the first two trees. Almost instantly, a strange twilight fell over her. The oak, beech, and hawthorn grew far apart here, but somehow, it felt closer to evening than the start of day. Nevertheless, Claire set her jaw and pressed forward, following the empty creek as it twined up the hill and through the trees.
At midday, she stopped in a small clearing to eat, sharing her meal with Onyx. So far, the pair of them had only encountered the occasional squirrel, rabbit, or deer going about their daily business. In fact, the deeper they ventured into the forest, the more confident Claire felt.
“The only challenge has been this endless trek uphill,” she breathed to Onyx as the terrain grew a bit steeper.
The crow only garbled lazily, his beak still tucked beneath a wing.
Eventually, Claire reached the top of a particularly rocky and vertical path to find herself on the edge of a wide meadow. She rested a few minutes to catch her breath, then cast her eyes around. This clearing looked well-traveled, for there were many trails leading through the short grass like spokes on a wheel.
Noting the location of the empty creek, she headed down a deer path leading toward a pair of trees. Claire’s heart sped up when she took in the scene beyond the meadow. The stream bed twined a dozen yards or so more where it met up with a shallow, shimmering pool.
“Onyx! We’ve found it! The spring’s source!”
She picked up her skirts and quickened her pace, but just as she reached the edge of the glen, Onyx came abruptly awake, flapping and cawing and pulling at her hair with his beak. Claire cried out in alarm and threw her arms up to fend off the bird as she slowed to a stop.
“Onyx! What in Eile is the matter?”
He had stopped squawking, but he fluffed his neck feathers and let out several perturbed caws.
Puzzled, Claire glared at him, then noticed he had fixed one eye on the tree tops. Claire followed his gaze and narrowed her own eyes. She could see nothing, only broad leaves of gold and russet and brilliant orange; trees draped in their autumn colors.
She was just about to admonish the crow again when a flicker of movement caught her eye. Something long and spindly, like a branch, pulled away from a thick bunch of leaves. The strange branch was joined by another, then another. Tiny bristles covered the twigs. It took Claire a heartbeat more to realize what she was seeing. She threw her hands over her mouth to cover a scream of horror.
It was a spider, a huge spider, perhaps as big as a large housecat. She hadn’t seen it before because it was dappled in the same shades as the leaves above. Now, it reached out its grotesque legs, testing a thick strand of spider silk. The tugging action tore Claire’s attention away from the small monster and instead transferred her focus on the trail ahead. The image of the pool of water warped, as if it had been an incredibly realistic painting obscured by someone pulling on the edge of the canvas. Or … a spider tugging on its web.
An illusion. The image of the spring ahead was not real. Suddenly, the whispered superstitions and outrageous stories of the valley folk surfaced in her mind. She had heard them speak of terrible monsters deep in Dorcha Forest. Creatures capable of weaving illusion with glamour. Claire’s eyes returned to the barely visible web. A flicker of white magic rippled over the lovely scene before sizzling out. It was a trick. Clever spider, to learn how to create an image of safety to lure its victims.
Claire shuddered and reached up to give Onyx an affectionate scratch.
“Smart bird. If not for you, we’d be spider food right now.”
Claire swallowed back her horror and picked up a nearby branch, long enough to hold out before her. She wandered around the meadow, testing the spaces between the trees until she found a safe place to step through. All that time, gold and red and brown mottled spiders quivered in the branches above, ready to pounce should she be fool enough to get caught up in one of their webs. By the time the meadow was well behind her, she was covered in a film of sweat.
“Never again,” she breathed to Onyx when they stopped to rest again, “never again do I want to encounter those spiders.”
Onyx grumbled in agreement, snoozing on and off now that his job of protector was over for the moment.
Claire continued more cautiously after that, always carrying a long walking stick with her. Gradually, the twilight forest grew ever darker, and she knew it was time they find a place to sleep for the night. She didn’t look forward to being in this forest after true dark, but they had no other choice.
“Perhaps we can find a nice big beech tree to sleep in,” she mused.
Claire gave Onyx a questioning look, and the bird tilted his head at her.
“Don’t worry,” she promised with a smile, “I’ll make sure it’s free of spiders first.”
She turned back toward the deer path they’d been following, but she and Onyx were no longer entirely alone.
Several yards before her stood a creature of indescribable horror. Slightly larger than a wolfhound, and as dark as night. But unlike a wolfhound, this beast appeared to be dead. The skin was rotting in some places, dry and shriveled like smoked meat in others. Patches of black, wispy fur stuck out in odd locations on its head, which was nothing but a skull covered in leathery skin. The eyes were sunken, and its teeth stood out without any lips to cover them. Two ears, more like torn flaps of flesh, fell behind its eyes.
The horrid creature lifted its nose, the skeletal muzzle moving back and forth as it scented the air. Claire didn’t know whether she should turn and run or remain where she was. As long as the beast didn’t see her, maybe it would pass on without incident.
Claire might have stood there all night, her movement limited only to her breathing, if the stench hadn’t hit her. Rotting flesh, burning hair, and excrement, all blended into one gut-wrenching odor. Bile rose in her throat so fast she had no choice but to turn and retch to avoid choking on her own vomit.
The beast snapped to attention at the sound, its deep eye sockets glowing lavender. It snarled, opening its mouth in a feral grin. What looked like burning embers lit the back of its throat, and steam rose to drift away in the crisp air.
Oh, gods, Claire thought, realization dawning on her. Cumorrig! One of the Morrigan’s hounds. Creatures wrought from dark magic and blood sacrifice.
The creature snarled again, then threw its head back and let loose a long, bone-chilling bay.
Claire gasped and fell into a crouch, covering her ears as the horrible sound sent shivers up her spine. Onyx squawked in protest, flapping his wings to keep his balance.
As soon as it finished its strange lament, the unnatural beast launched itself toward them. Claire screamed and scrambled to her feet, digging her toes in as she fled down the trail. Onyx leapt from her shoulder, cawing in distress as he flew ahead of her.
The monster’s harsh panting and pounding footfalls nipped at her heels, and Claire pushed even harder. She had to escape, she had to get away from this creature …
There – the tall beech tree she’d meant to look for.
With one last burst of energy, Claire sprang forward, her feet slapping against the tree’s lowest limb as she reached for the next one. She felt a hard tug behind her but didn’t loosen her grip. A loud ripping sound cut through the twilight as the monster’s teeth tore her cloak, then suddenly she was flung forward. Claire didn’t look back. She hauled herself up and kept climbing, stopping only when she had reached the top of the tree.
Wedging herself between three large branches, Claire peered back down at the forest floor. The Cumorrig tried to follow her up the tree, but it only managed to leap to the third branch above the ground before its way was hindered by too many smaller limbs intersecting. Claire fell against the tapering trunk, her legs dangling below her.
“Gods and goddesses of Eile,” she breathed, her throat clogging with emotion. “Aunt Ethne was right.”
Below, the Cumorrig howled again, and Claire clapped her hands over her ears. What if this monster’s baying drew even more deadly creatures?
A few moments later, a smear of familiar dark feathers emerged from the growing dark and came to rest on a narrow branch above her.
“Onyx!” she cried, glad to have a friend to keep her company.
She reached up and stroked his feathers, the bird grumbling happily as he fluffed himself up and tucked his head beneath a wing.
Below, the hellhound made a whuffling sound, followed by a scrape of claws and a thump. Claire peered over the edge of her branch to find the hideous animal had settled down on a wide limb for a nap.
“Is it going to wait for me to fall out of the tree?!” she hissed.
The answer to her question came as the night drew on, and the flicker of the animal’s furnace-like throat every so often reminded her of its presence. It was staying, perched upon the beech branch like some grotesque, flightless bird.
Claire pulled some spare rope from her pack and wrapped it around her middle, then around the trunk of the tree. If she dozed off, she didn’t want to fall and become easy prey for the Cumorrig.
With some effort, she managed to calm her thoughts enough to drift off into a restless sleep.
* * *
The monster was gazing up at her with violet eyes when Claire woke the next morning. Her muscles had all gone stiff, and her head pounded, but she was alive. Before untying herself from the tree, she dug out an apple from her pack and crunched away until only a thin core remained. When she was finished, she took aim at the Cumorrig and launched the core as hard as she could.
It hit the beast between the eyes, and the corpse hound made a sound that was close to a yelp, shaking its head and backing away.
“Ha!” Claire cried out. “Why don’t you go whimpering back to your master and leave me be?”
The monster paid her no heed. It did, however, leap to the ground and begin sniffing around the base of the tree.
Curious, Claire leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the beast through the interlacing branches. It circled a few more times, and when it stepped back, she noted red flames rising from its nostrils. Cold dread clamped Claire’s stomach as the acrid bite of wood smoke tickled her nose.
“Oh no,” she breathed, gaping at the scarlet flames flickering out of a knothole in the tree’s lower trunk. “No!”
Claire worked furiously at the knot securing her to the beech until it came free. The Cumorrig watched her, its glowing eyes focused.
“Curse you!” she ground out, frantically looking about.
Perhaps she could jump to another tree? No. The closest oak was too far away. She was doomed. Outsmarted by a reanimated corpse dog. What a pathetic way to go.
“So much for positive thoughts,” Claire said against tears of frustration.
Before she could succumb to despair, however, a piercing screech cut through the silent morning forest, followed by a flash of white hurtling through the trees. Onyx, sleeping far above her, woke with a start, cawing and flapping in panic.
Claire gasped and jerked her head to the side just in time to catch sight of a white hawk, no, eagle, diving from the forest canopy toward the Cumorrig. The corpse hound snarled and turned its glowing eyes toward the large bird.
The eagle dove at great speed, its taloned feet spread open to slash at the monster. Claire held her breath, afraid to watch. The eagle would most likely inflict damage, but surely the Cumorrig would retaliate and kill the bird.
Just before the eagle struck, an arrow sliced through the air and lodged deep in one of the hound’s eyes. The beast bellowed in agony as smoke rose from the wound.
Distracted by the damage to its eye, the hound was not ready for the claws that ripped through its back. The Cumorrig yelped again as another arrow joined the first, this one sinking into its chest.
The eagle beat its great wings, circling to attack the hound again. All the while, Claire perched in the treetop like a raccoon, her mouth hanging open and her heart pounding in her chest. Four more arrows, each landing along the hound’s spine, made the eagle’s job easier. Putrid smoke rose where the arrows stuck, the beast jerking in response until it collapsed to the ground.
“Hawthorn wood,” Claire breathed quietly, remembering the one bane of the Morrigan’s creations.
The archer, whoever he or she was, had used hawthorn for the arrows.
“Forneart,” a gruff voice called from somewhere out of sight.
Claire tensed, then went still.
“Leave it. The abomination weakens. Soon, it will be nothing but a pile of ash.”
The eagle let out a melodic, whistling warble, dropped from a nearby branch, beat its wings a few times, then came to rest upon the outstretched arm of a Faelorehn man. Claire cupped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out in surprise. The man had appeared from out of nowhere, riding a large horse the color of freshly tilled earth. The stranger wore a dark, hooded cloak, and a thick leather glove protected his arm against the eagle’s talons.
He didn’t seem to notice Claire, despite the red cloak she wore. So, she continued to watch him curiously, wondering who he was and where he’d come from. She wished she could see his face, if only to get a better idea of what sort of person he might be, but he never once dropped his hood, even after sending the eagle off to perch in a nearby oak.
The man dismounted his horse, but held the reins. A good thing, too, because the horse rolled his eyes and pinned his ears flat against his head, stepping away from the smoldering pile of what once was the Cumorrig.
“Steady, Stoirm. This creature can no longer harm you.”
Once the horse calmed a bit, the man dropped the reins to let him skirt the edge of the small clearing.
Claire resisted the urge to shift her weight to improve her view. From what little she could see, however, she gathered the stranger was reclaiming his arrows and cleaning them on a nearby patch of grass. After several minutes, he stood and walked back into her line of sight, only to turn and study the tree.
The eagle, who she’d forgotten, dropped from its perch and glided across the meadow, landing on one of the lower branches of the beech tree.
Claire narrowed her eyes, trying to get a better look at the bird. It was all white save for its ruddy tail and a small patch of rust-colored feathers behind its eyes. Claire sucked in a breath through her nose. Gods and goddesses of Eile. A spirit guide! But such creatures were rare, and rumor had it that a Faelorehn man or woman could acquire one only through Cernunnos. The god of the Wild did not part with such gifts easily. This man must be someone of great importance to have a spirit guide.
“Why would the Morrigan’s ilk set fire to this tree?” the man mused aloud.
Claire snapped out of her daze and blinked down at her dark rescuer once again. He had removed one of his gloves to reveal a pale hand, which he now held palm out toward the tree. The pull of magic, the stranger using his glamour, tugged gently at Claire’s senses and the fire eating away at the beech slowly died.
The eagle stretched its wings and clicked its beak, tilting its head upwards.
“In the tree?” the man murmured, his low voice growing quieter.
But Claire had heard the words anyway, panic gripping her heart. The stranger tilted his head and gazed into the branches above. She held absolutely still, not daring to move.
Perhaps he won’t see me, Claire thought hopefully.
The man’s hood fell back, and his eyes met hers. Claire sucked in another breath. This man looked nothing like the young farmers in her valley. His pale skin was smooth and unblemished, his eyes a severe, golden brown, so bright they reminded her of a wolf’s. Hair black as coal hung in unkempt strands around a haunted face of masculine beauty, and his mouth was drawn in a hard line. A mouth that probably never smiled.
“Who are you?” he asked gruffly, dark brow furrowing.
When Claire found her voice, it shook slightly. “I’m sorry. I-I have traveled from a small cottage southeast of here. I have been following the stream bed to see why the waters have stopped flowing. My aunt is ill, and only the magic-infused water gives her any comfort.”
The man placed his hands on his hips and hung his head, as if contemplating what to do with her.
Let me pass unharmed, she thought, hoping her silent words would sway him.
“Why was the Cumorrig after you?” the stranger finally asked.
“I don’t know. I was following the trail, and it crept up behind me.” She pointed back down the path. “I climbed this tree to escape, but the Cumorrig wouldn’t leave. I spent the night up here.”
Her rescuer ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
“You are lucky, then,” he said. “He would have killed you. We don’t get many young women wandering alone in these woods.”
His tone might have held some humor, but his face remained impassive.
“You might as well come down from there. I can lead you to the source of the spring, then you can be on your way. Dorcha Forest is no place for those not hardened by life’s trials.”
