My grandmother and my father had been missing for days. No one had heard from them. We sent messengers into the Pale Wood to inquire upon their whereabouts. These messengers would say they could not possibly deliver the letter, yet could not explain why. Nor could travelers, traders or merchants. Only that the way had been claimed. Their eyes would go vacant. Then they would faint. Nary a man could recall their ramblings.
My mother contemplated going to see about our family. We were able to keep up with fathers work, but it was difficult as neither of us had the same strength.
In time she worked up the courage to go one foggy morning. I watched her leave with a foraging basket of provisions on her back, she wearing her red cloak walking into the mist, me in a plain threadbare dress, no shoes.
I waved until she disappeared into the gray.
I set about my chores that day, waiting anxiously for her to return. But upon milking the cow, I came to my senses: If scores of men had not been able to find my father and Grandmother, to even get to her house, what chance did my mother have alone? Courage, yes. She possessed that and much of it. But was it enough?
I finished the milking, put away everything from the morning’s work, and dressed in trousers and boots. I grabbed my lantern, additional provisions. Then my dagger, given to me by Father. He always said that I was his shining star. Of the blade, he bade me use it to pierce the darkness should I find myself lost in it. My mother was not fond of my having the weapon, but it had served me well. I smiled, thinking of him.
Thus laden, I left our little hovel and set about down the road. The sleepy village had scarcely awoken, as we kept early hours. I saw a small grouping of persons surrounding a red mound with a woven basket near. The contents were spilt over the dirt path. My mother. She rose, dazed. Her eyes gazed around, glassy and unfocused. I ran to her side.
“Mother? What’s happened?” I asked quietly.
She was all out of sorts. I collected the basket and contents, moving them aside.
“‘Tis no longer a place for mortals, it said. The way is claimed. Turn back, lest ye desire a fate worse than death.’”
“Neira. Who said it. Who said those words to you?” Asked an old gentleman. She shook.
“I do not know. Its voice was not of this plane. Its presence lingers in the gray shadows down the path. Its eyes were as pinpricks of light, swaying. My mind was clouded by its mesmer when I made it to the crossroad. I know not what it is. But I did not tempt it. I turned back down the path, yet I do not remember the journey. I cannot say whether the presence is evil or not. But I pray thee all: we would do well to leave this place. The wall grows nearer. It’s not supposed to be here!”
Then she fell over in a heap.
Everyone muttered. “That crossroad is our trade route. Even if we do not enter the Pale Wood it is no good for our way to other towns to be blocked. The wall grows nearer. What wall…”
I felt my skin prickle. Instead of terror, I felt resolve welling up inside me. Whoever or whatever this presence was, I had to know.
I removed my mother’s red cloak and put it on myself, then filled her woven foraging rucksack with the rest of my items.
“Red, where on earth are you going?”
“We will not be set upon by whatever this creature is. If we lie in wait, what will it do when it reaches us? If we leave this village we have built, will it not spread, still? I do not fear whatever machinations it may have against me. And I will not sit idly while it plots to lay claim to more.”
Before they could stop me, I ran down the path, lantern in hand. The mist was thick, a chill grazing my hands. I ignored their calls, as none of them had the gall to follow me.
I walked with purpose after a while, arrogant and foolhardy. As I drew closer to the crossroad, however, my resolve wavered. What was I doing out here, alone? What could I do to an unknowable presence scarcely described by delirious villagers? Me, a young woman with nothing more than a dagger?
The pathways from the Pale Wood, our town, called Crooked Bow, and two other towns from the east and west converged here. Not cart nor carriage had been this way. It was quiet.
I stepped in the center of the cross roads and listened. The wind gently whipped my ears. All was silent but that. Realization washed over me: there were no animal sounds. Not even a bird.
An almost imperceptible hum began to rise into my ears. It made the hair on my arms and neck rise like a cat’s.
I likened it to the sound I heard when my head hit a post once. A ringing like like a distant bell and a rushing river heard from beneath bed covers. A swarm of flies.
Fear began to rise in my throat. My legs trembled.
A wall of mist began spilling out of the mouth of the Pale Wood, lazily. And with it, pinpricks of light wavered around inside it. As mother had described.
This was what I sought, a meeting with this unknown presence.
“Tis no longer a place for mortals. The way is claimed. Turn back, lest ye desire a fate worse than death.”
The voice was every voice rolled into one sound. But a growl emanated underneath it. The inflections were all wrong, as if this being had cobbled together bits of conversation from many people.
“I-“ I hesitated. I could still go back. I could help pack up the entire village. We could leave and let someone else solve this.
But then I thought of my father. My grandmother. I had to know what had befallen them.
“I… will do not such thing. I will not turn back, beast.”
The bobbing lights halted, and lowered themselves level to me. As if looking at me. I stood my ground, although my heart was pounding in my chest. The mist rushed directly up to me so fast I jumped, betraying my fear.
“You would tempt fate. Whatever it is you seek is lost beyond this way. Turn back.” It had imitated my mothers voice!
“I have made my intentions clear. I will go into the Pale Wood.”
“So be it.” said my fathers voice among a multitude of others.
All of a sudden, the sky around me blackened. The mist grew darker, tinged with red like blood. Lightning silently arced through what looked like boiling clouds. A whirlwind snatched at me from every direction. I ran. I don’t know which direction, but I ran. I kept hold of my lantern, it’s clanking frantic. My cloak whipped around me.
I felt the darkness reaching out for me. Even at my quick speed, I was caught up in it. A violent pull went through my chest, and I was mercilessly swept up in the beast’s tendrils and flung. Flung so hard I screamed like a madman as my body flew through the air. The tendrils of darkness still grabbing at me.
—
I was still screaming and writhing around for what felt like hours on the solid ground. I flailed my arms, fighting nothing but a horrible memory.
Eventually my senses returned to me, and I stopped fighting the air, gasping for breaths. I lay still, chest heaving. Then I sobbed. What had I done?
I whimpered, then forced myself to open my eyes. The sight was almost too much to bear. I could scarcely fathom what I was seeing.
The Pale Wood was wrong.
Some of the trees were upside down, roots to sky with dirt clinging to them. Water was flowing backward up small creeks of what looked like blood and water. Stones floated around, dangerously held aloft by some unseen force. Every so often one would fall, another rise.
I looked behind me. The crossroad was gone, replaced by more decrepit woods.
So this was it. Trapped.
I touched at my dagger. I could have used it in the darkness, but I was so flustered. Foolish of me to forget.
I shivered. I couldn’t stay here pitying myself. So I picked up my things, drew myself into a huddle, and walked toward my grandmothers cottage.
The path was the same, but all around it was twisted. The animals. Gods, the animals. Some were twisted yet still functioning as if nothing was wrong with their broken limbs. I glimpsed a rabbit whose insides were outside. I wanted to retch.
The guttural noises of other unseen beasts emanated threateningly from among the trees. Eyes peered at me from the darkest depths. I tried to put the fear out of my mind. But I couldn’t. So I pressed on. What else was there to do?
—
It was impossible to perceive the passing of time. There was no Sun, nor a moon. I did not see lights, nor any buildings. Grandmothers house was still a ways away, yet I did not know how long I had walked.
At some point, I decided to take a rest, as I had not eaten since morning. My body collapsed upon a dirty boulder. I was incredibly exhausted down to my soul. What was this hellish place I had invited myself to? I lay upon the stone for a time, stomach rumbling, until I found the strength to rise.
I prepared a small meal of bread and cheese. Just as I was about to partake, I heard a thudding sound. It was a familiar one.
Cautiously, I set my meager helping upon the basket and stood. I quietly approached the trees, knife in hand, and looked around. I saw a man in there, tired and hunched over, hitting a log. He appeared to be making some sort of dwelling. I hesitated.
“Father? It’s Red. Is that you?” I whispered.
The thudding halted. I heard the swing of an axe hit a tree. The man whirled around. It was father! His beard had grown long and disheveled. “You’ll not trick me again foul beast,” said his a gruff voice, wild and cracking. “Leave me be!”
I gasped. His eyes were wild. He picked his axe back up walking toward my direction.
“Father! It’s really me. I swear upon my life!”
He turned to me and stalked forward. I stepped back. “Prove it! Prove to me you know the answer now. What are you called? What is your name?!”
I shrank away at his frenzied movements. “Father, I am called Reina Turnpike. Your daughter and your shining star. My mother, and your dearest wife, is called Leina, your lovely flower.”
He stood stock still for a few moments, our eyes locked. He glared at me, then squinted, turning his head a bit. “Red? Really truly this is no illusion?”
“No it isn’t. I was swept here by some creature in the grey mist. Darkness and tempest like a raging storm, with its eyes like wandering lanterns! Now I’ve condemned myself to this plane through foolishness.”
My father laughed. “Yes you are indeed my daughter. Even in the face of strife you still find a way to weave words into poetry. Come my shining star.”
I walked over to him and he scooped me up in a hug. “My brave foolish girl!” he cried.
A light in the darkness. At last.
“Come father. You look at the edge of starvation. Have something to eat.”
—
We walked down the road and quizzed each other on the rarest most obscure questions we could think of about our lives. It was apparent we were both real and not fabrications of this monstrous being. But it was fun nonetheless. Eventually our thoughts and conversation turned to the beast.
“If we kill it, we can escape here. But it has taken up residence in Grandma Bea’s cottage. I do not have the means to kill it. I tried and failed.”
“I have brought my dagger. Is it true that it can cut through darkness?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
“Perhaps with it in hands I can harm this beast.”
“It is possible. You might get hurt.”
“We have little choice. We die here fighting or we die simpering in a ditch.”
Father nodded. “There is our bounty and enemy. Hopefully not our doom.”
He pointed. In the distance was grandmothers home. I had missed it. It was the creature above it that nearly made my heart stop.
I do not think I had felt more terror at that moment. The presence had taken on the form of a wolf made of shifting shadow not unlike a child’s crude drawing.
Its face. Its gaping maw was in a wide toothy grin, frozen in place. It had deep dark black sockets for eyes. The lights flitted around inside them. The only movement at all. As if sensing my gaze, they stopped. Again, my hair rose in my neck. They all slowly stared directly in my direction. No matter which way I moved they followed me. The rest of it was still absolutely unmoving. The mist it was made of did not move either.
“It watches us now.” Father said ominously.
