SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Still Waters 00-02

Still Waters
A Tale from the Síe Realm

Prologue

‘Give me that boy and I will go with thee.’
Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act Two, Scene I)

Night yawned overhead, with high, dark clouds drawing whispering veils across the stars, creating hazy rings around the full moon. Eileen walked alone, her cloak pulled close against the chill, the child in her arms lost to slumber. Nervous of the darkness, she cuddled the baby tightly, causing him to stir and mutter. On the edge of the forest a leaf rustled, a twig snapped and something moved.

“It’s the wind,” she whispered to herself, though all else was silent. Not even the dark glass of the lake was disturbed by a breath of breeze. All was still.

“The wind,” she repeated, picking up her pace until she was half-walking, half-jogging. It had been foolish to spend so much time at Bronwen’s, but the fire had been warm and the company so friendly. Far better than what awaited her; empty darkness and a cold hearth. Still, it was her home, and it was safe. If only she could get to it.

“Just a little further,” she told her son, fumbling to draw her cloak even more firmly around them both. “Just this last corner, and then we’ll be there.”

Darkness had fallen swiftly this eve, far faster than Eileen had anticipated. Now, more than ever, she wished she had accepted Bronwen’s invitation to stay the night. But she had thought she could make it, she had believed she could outrun the light. It wasn’t so very far…

Right at that moment, it felt like the ends of the earth.

“Almost there, almost there,” she murmured, letting out a shriek as something crashed out of the trees and onto the path before her.

“Stay away!” she shouted at the shadowy beast before she could stop herself.

The young stag, outlined by moonlight, stared at her with wide eyes of its own, clearly as startled as she, before it bounded away again, across the narrow stream and into the woods beyond. One foot splashed into the glassy waters and ripples drifted across the lake, disturbing the ominous calm.

Swallowing the ever-building fear that threatened to choke her, Eileen ran. Stumbling and clumsy in the darkness, she ran along the narrow path, not knowing what to fear more; the dark, menacing forest or the quiet, sinister lake. Nothing was safe here. Only home.

She turned the corner, and there it was, her tiny little house nestled up close against the trees. Once the spot had delighted her, had seemed so pretty, so secretive, hidden away from the suffocating presence of the rest of the village. Still close enough to visit at need, but far enough away to deter interferers. Safe from the villagers, she hadn’t stopped to think about what else might be lurking in the night. Neither of them had, and now Glyn was gone. She was alone, all alone, and so lonely, so very lonely.

Something stirred in the shadows of the doorway, and she skidded to a halt, panting deep, desperate breaths while she waited for the moonlight to reveal her visitor. Unable to speak, she waited and she watched, her skin crawling with dread and fear, while she held the child tighter.

The shadow moved, stepped forward out of the darkness, venturing into the white beams, and Eileen gasped. Pale, pale skin like fresh milk and black-as-midnight hair. The visitor smiled, but there was no warmth there, no warmth to light his dark, menacing eyes. She couldn’t see the colour, but she didn’t need to. She already knew.

“Night’s greetings, Eileen,” he growled, his voice husky and uncertain with the unfamiliar duhsíe words. “I began to believe you would not return to me.”

“No,” she whispered, taking a trembling step backwards. If she could make it to the trees, if she could blend into those shadows, then she might be safe. She might at least stand a chance. But she had to move slowly. So very slowly. “What do you want?”

He stepped towards her, seeming to grow taller as his shadow lengthened behind him, eyes shining with their own inner light. “Only that which is mine.”

“Never!” Desperation made her defiant, and she fled.

Over the slamming rasp of her breath and the pounding of her heart, she listened to the darkness, searching for the sound she feared above all others. Hardly able to concentrate on anything else, she crashed into the trees, tripping over tree roots and catching herself against slender birch trunks.

Hooves thundered behind her, and she knew he was coming. Even more terrified than before, Eileen ran. Her legs trembled and her lungs burned, but she would not give in. The forest loomed around her, drawing in closer with squat oak trees and wicked hawthorns, catching at her hair and legs, throwing unseen obstacles before her feet. She held her son tighter and stumbled on, unaware of anything but the pursuit that grew ever closer.

Branches snapped and cracked behind her, and she knew he would struggle almost as much as she, but she didn’t stop. She would never stop running, never, not if it stopped him from winning. That was all that mattered now. She must win.

Risking a look over her shoulder, she saw nothing in the darkness. All was black and quiet behind, until the ground dropped out from under her feet. Tumbling with a cry, she huddled around the child, feeling stones and knotted roots batter her head, back, ribs and legs.

She found her feet even before she stopped, but after one step she collapsed again, sobbing and gasping, agony racing deep into her very bones. It was too much, all too much, and she was but one woman. How was she to win?

But she had to, so gritting her teeth against the pain, she pulled herself upright again and patted the wailing child as she limped onwards. Fire flamed from her ankle, but she took strength from it, and lurched from tree to tree, using them for support and to drive her on. She would win this, she would, she would, she would.

A shadow appeared before her, stepping out from the trees, glowing white in a shaft of moonlight. She stopped, too breathless to scream, too tired to fight, but too strong yet to give in. Panting, she found her voice and held the crying child against her chest as she backed up a step. “I would die before I let you take him.”

The man smile, shadowing her steps, his green eyes flashing in the night. “That could be arranged.”

Quicker than thought, than flight, than Eileen’s exhausted body could react, he lunged. Eileen screamed, falling back even as her son was torn from her. Sharp teeth tore at her, heavy footfalls trampled her down, and she sank into the cold earth in defeat.

Her eyes closed against the cries of the child, while the night echoed with the thunder of retreating hoof beats. It was over. She had lost. She had lost him, lost everything.

Whispers of the night surrounded her, but she was too weak to escape. Beaten, she surrendered, no longer having the strength to breathe as ice took over her soul.

Chapter One
Held Fast

‘And therefore is Love said to be a child;
Because in choice he is oft beguil’d.’
Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act One, Scene I)

Anwen grimaced as she straightened her aching back, using the back of one filthy hand to wipe the sweat from her eyes, tucking her hair behind her ear in the same movement. It wasn’t particularly hot, with the late summer sun hidden by clouds, but without a breath of wind to provide freshness the air was stifling. All seemed quiet about her, and for that she was thankful. Most ordinary folk had returned to the village for their noonday meal. Anwen hadn’t followed. She knew where she was not welcome, and it had been long since such things bothered her. Instead she remained in the field, removing the rocks from her paltry patch of ground.

“Why bother?” she asked herself, sitting back on her heels and wiping her grimy hands against her dull gown. Was it really just less than two seasons? Two seasons since she had stood before her family and her friends, safe in the love and welcome of her home village, who had all gathered together to wish her well. To wish her happiness.

“Little fool,” she growled, leaning down to scrabble at the rocks buried deep in the cracked earth. Back in the spring everything had seemed so wonderful, so perfect. Nothing could go wrong, she had thought. Finally, all she had ever wanted and dreamed of was within her grasp. Anwen had never been backward in coming forward, so naturally she had reached out and grabbed it with both hands.

Him. Rhys. He had been the epitome of the man she dreamed she wanted. He was tall, like her brothers, and broad across the shoulders. A hunter, young but quick to learn. All his companions spoke well of him, and he was handsome in a vaguely bullish kind of way. His brown eyes were always bright when they looked at her. She had taken that to mean he was merry and good-natured like her brothers.

“Foolish, foolish child,” she hissed, suppressing a cry as she missed her grip and tore another nail on the stubborn stone she was trying to uproot. She slapped it with impotent fury, then welcomed the rippling pain that blossomed up her arm. It was frustrating, difficult work to clear her land plot, but it was preferable to everything else in this place.

When Rhys had requested her hand, well, it had seemed only natural for her to agree. In fact she had jumped at the chance. With her fearfully active imagination she had cast him easily into her dream role and made him out to be perfect. He seemed it. Even her family liked him - what else was there to consider? And, best of all, he lived right at the opposite end of the lake. Perfect. Much as she loved her family - and she did, she really did - it was utter bliss to be free of them. It would only be for a little while, she was certain. After all, Rhys was a hunter - he travelled the length and breadth of the east shore of Lake Dasidhne several times each year. As his future wife, she would go with him. It was only natural.

So, on the eve of the Spring Solstice, they were hand-fasted. Rhys had been eager to head straight into marriage, he didn’t see the need to wait. Not known for her own degrees of patience, Anwen had surprised herself by listening to the pleas of her mother and father. They had advised her to be more cautious. After all, being hand-fasted she would live with Rhys for a full year, so it wasn’t as though they would be apart. They would be married in all but bound word. Should things not turn out well, then she could leave. If they were married, however, she would be trapped.

Anwen hated to be trapped. Even though she had known that Rhys was what she wanted, and that they would wed when the year was up, her parents were right.

Now their timid warnings seemed like the highest wisdom, and she only wished they were close enough to thank. Anwen hated to admit when she was wrong and there were times when pride was more of a curse than a blessing, but even she could tell when to admit defeat. Like now. She had been wrong about Rhys, wrong about moving away, wrong about everything. A truth that came home to her more with each passing day. A season and a half and already she couldn’t bear him. The prospect of another two and a half of the same filled her with dread - imagine if she had given into Rhys and married him then and there as he wished.

A whole life trapped by his side…

It didn’t bear thinking about, and so she didn’t. Instead she returned her energy and force to the rocks in the ground, scrabbling away the dirt around them and placing them to one side. She could imagine the earth was Rhys’ face, while the stones could be the rest of the village. With a grim smile, she set back to work with a vengeance.

As the day wore on, slowly the rest of the villager’s returned to the fields, working in their individual plots of land. Many of them talked, some of them sang and all were merry. Except for those nearest to Anwen. They were silent, and cast more than a couple of disparaging glances her way.

She ignored them. It had not gone unnoticed by her that her plot was the worst in the field, nor that more and more rocks seemed to appear overnight. If she hadn’t have known better she would say they didn’t like Rhys. But she did know better. Rhys was the darling of the village, although it had been a long time before she realised that he had a plot of his own. One of the best, but then only the best would do for their beloved boy. No one wanted to see him starve. The upstart girl from the outer lands was a different matter. Not even for Rhys’ sake would the village feed her. As a result, Rhys rarely came home for meals and Anwen was left to forage alone.

If the others thought this would bother her, then they were very much mistaken. Anwen had always been a free, independent spirit, and had spent many a summer and autumn foraging in the forests on the outer lands looking for food and sustenance. Her family weren’t so poor as to make this necessary, but Anwen and her four siblings had always been hungry, and it gave purpose to their days to search for something to eat.

In fact, the village did her a favour by taking Rhys away and keeping him there. If he returned home a little drunk, it was no hardship for Anwen to simply roll him into bed, before making herself a nest of blankets next to the hearth. Anything was preferable to sleeping next to him. He didn’t take too kindly to that, but she didn’t care overmuch.

Rhys was rude, uncouth, arrogant and possessive, but Anwen trusted herself to be quick-witted enough to keep herself out of too much danger. He wasn’t foolish, her betrothed, but he continually underestimated her. It was no surprise that he thought little of the intelligence of women, if the way the village females treated him was all he had to go on. They fawned, swooned, giggled and adored him, not seeing him for the bull-headed, charmless beast that he really was. Anwen was disgusted at herself that she hadn’t seen through him sooner.

The moment they arrived in their new home, the rot had started, and nothing had happened since to prevent it. Only her pride and vow kept her close to him. She had promised to remain with him for a year, and she was young yet. What was a year out of the rest of her life? She could cope. Or at least, she hoped she could.

Thanks to the generosity of the rest of the village with their cider and ale, and Anwen’s own knowledge of herb lore, she didn’t fear that a child would come along to complicate things. All the same, she avoided lying with him as much as possible. He was bulky, heavy and prone to sweating. Lying with him was like being with a wild pig as it hunted for truffles. Disgusting. And to think she had once been considered a great beauty.

If all beauty did was gain her men who would treat her like truffles, then it wasn’t worth it. Yet Anwen was not so foolish yet as to take a knife to her face. True, disfigurement would probably lead to Rhys getting rid of her, but then again, she couldn’t be sure. She had overhead the other men in the village talking about her, sometimes even when they knew she could hear. By all accounts it wasn’t just her pretty face that interested them.

At the time she had been so appalled that she had gone straight home, filled the bathtub with cold water and scrubbed until her skin was raw. Since then she had hardened her mind, and taken to carrying a knife with her at all time, strapped to her thigh. It was only Rhys’ dubious idea of protection that kept her safe. But she would rely on no man. Men could not be trusted, except her father and brothers. Even Idris, who wasn’t known as the most steadfast of creatures, could be relied on to protect those whom he loved.

Rhys didn’t love her, nor she him. He simply wanted to possess her. Anwen was no man’s object, and should the year pass and he refuse to let her go free, he would find out the truth to his cost.

With such thoughts flowing around her mind, Anwen worked doggedly onwards throughout daylight, not noticing when the rest of the village trickled back to their homes, ready for the evening meal. There would be hardly any food in the house, but that wasn’t the only reason Anwen stayed away. Some nights Rhys bothered to return home with the intention of spending the evening with her, but if she wasn’t there, then she knew he would go elsewhere and seek other company. The longer she remained outside, the more chance there was that he would tire of waiting for her.

If he chose to spend his time with other women, it didn’t bother her. Some of the less respectable girls of the village actually liked to boast that they had taken Rhys from under her nose, the fabled Anwen, beauty of the shores of Dasidhne. At times Anwen was hard pressed to hide her smile. They simply didn’t realise that they were doing her a favour. She could almost thank them, if they weren’t so odious and proud that they had bedded a man who made them no promises. More than one babe in the village had Rhys’ features. Anwen cared nothing for them, and thought very little of their mothers. She knew Rhys, and he would make none of these women any false promises, it was possibly the only good thing about him; in some ways he knew the power of the given word. They knew he wasn’t interested in them or their children, yet they went ahead anyway. Did none of them know their herb lore? Or were they all hoping to trap Rhys into marrying them?

Anwen shuddered. She was no snare for any man. But what revolted her more than anything was the pride with which these women continued to carry themselves. They lay with faithless men and bred bastards as if it was an achievement. Perhaps that was why Anwen simply didn’t fit amongst them. She had been raised with honour, pride and honesty. She knew the value of vows, promises and loyalty, and she expected nothing less from those she associated with. Rhys had let her down, but she had learned her lesson now. As soon as the year was up, she would return home and start afresh. Things would be better the next time around, she was certain of it.

Night gathered steadily around her, the air still thick beneath the heavy clouds. Finally, when it became hard to tell what was stone or dirt, Anwen gave up. She looked around at the shadowy outline of her plot and was satisfied with her day’s work. Tomorrow she would clear the stones away to the forest edge, then spend her day fishing or something. Something pleasant, to wash away the strain of village life. She might even test the strength of her limits here. What would Rhys do if she failed to come home one night?

It would certainly be an interesting test. For no matter how many times he lay with different women in the village, he always crawled back to her before dawn. Some part of her once wished to believe this was out of some twisted idea of loyalty, but the practical part of Anwen knew it was just to check on her, to make sure she was still there. He would never forgive her if she were to roam the beds of other men. It saddened her to realise that Rhys didn’t know that she would never forgive herself either for doing that. He had no faith in her, and that was the most painful part of all.

Still, tomorrow she would push a little against her restraints. It had been a while since she last did anything to deliberately annoy him. She didn’t want him becoming complacent.

Smiling grimly to herself, she wiped her hands on her skirt and rose from the dirt, staggering on her weak legs. It took a good few moments of tottering around until life returned, and by then she was starting to feel the closeness of the evening. It pressed in upon her, squeezing her tired mind and making breathing hard. There was a storm in the air, she was certain of it. She hoped it broke in the morning. Anwen loved storms, and nothing would be more perfect than to run away under the cover of one.

Rhys would be angry, she already knew that, but could no longer summon up the energy to care. Let tomorrow do what it would. It would be another day gone, and another step closer to the freedom she craved. Tomorrow it would begin.

*

The house that she shared with Rhys was on the far side of the village, built by his own hands, and those of his friends. He seemed to be proud of it, though Anwen saw little in it to be excited about. In fact she hated it, but that was hardly the simple building’s fault. In order to get to it, or away from it, she was forced to walk along the main track through the centre of the village and on towards the outskirts. The entire walk was watched by others, hiding behind their doors and shutters, or staring at her with no shame.

Just the thought of them all made her shiver. She wasn’t hurt by their blatant hostility, but there were times when it frightened and unsettled her. While she was strong in mind, the same could not be said of her body, especially when she wasn’t getting enough to eat. So the only other option was to walk through the forest.

Here on the south-eastern shores of the lake the forest was still thick and strong. Year by year more of the trees were cleared away, the wood taken for fires and homes, but the forest was so big and menacing, that progress was slow. Anwen didn’t mind the trees, though she knew her childhood stories well enough. There were all kinds of things in the forest, fae-creatures, the Síe. Before she left her family, she would never have dreamed of walking in the woods alone with night fast approaching, but here, in this whole new world, she regarded the prospect of meeting any of the Síe as the lesser of the two evils. Besides, all had been quiet in the area for longer than Anwen had been present.

They were Síe-fearing folk down this end of the lake, and tended to take only what the forest could spare. That suited her just fine. On a night like this, with the moon hidden by clouds and no wind to speak of, it was almost pleasant to walk through the deep shadows, along pathways that only she ever seemed to use. No village dweller would follow her here. The silence was heavy and oppressive about her, watchful, but she didn’t feel threatened by it. Whatever it was that was waiting had no interest in her. She was just one woman, after all, and not even born of the village. Perhaps it was the others it was waiting for, longing for them to stray within its grasp.

Even thinking such thoughts made Anwen shiver, but not entirely from fear. It would certainly bring no sorrow to her if the forest did decide to advance on the village. Perhaps then she would be free to go her own way again once more.

Knowing that such thoughts were unworthy, she gave a careless shrug and clambered over a series of fallen trees, gradually easing herself away from the shadows and back to the open ground of the village. There it was, the house that meant so little to her, yet everything to the man who would be waiting inside for her return. She swore beneath her breath as she noticed a light glinting from behind the shutters. Clearly she hadn’t stayed away for long enough. Rhys must be wanting something important, she mused, to have waited so late.

The darkness was almost complete as she reached the door and took a deep breath, before pushing her way into the glow beyond.

“Anwen.”

He was sitting at the table in the small kitchen, still dressed in the clothes she had watched him pull on that morning. Clean, homespun woollen garments, suitable for an idle man. The hunter who had come to her village and stolen her away from everything she loved and held dear, was not a hunter at all. He was a sometime farmer, sometime builder and occasional leading voice in the village. He had no fixed direction in life, and apparently had travelled along the lakeshore with the sole intention of carrying her away. Once she might have been flattered by such attention, but now she scorned it.

Not granting him anything but the briefest of glances, Anwen focused her attention on pulling off her boots, and placing them carefully beside the door, ready for the morning. Next she wandered across to the hearth where Rhys had lit a small fire. It wasn’t a cold night, but she was surprised to note that he could do some useful things when forced to fend for himself. A small bucket awaited her, which she had filled that morning before leaving for the fields. The water inside was pleasantly warm, and she allowed herself a small moment of enjoyment as she washed her arms and rubbed the tight knots of tension gathered at her neck and shoulders, before splashing her face.

“Anwen,” Rhys said again, watching her as she dried her face and hands and left the room, heading for the small bedroom next door.

She was in no mood to speak with him, in fact she didn’t have anything that she wanted to say. All she wanted was to get changed out of her filthy dress, and then try to scrabble a meal together for herself from her meagre supplies. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was Rhys hanging around, watching her like a starving hound, and eating his way through her precious food.

“Anwen, we must talk.”

Pulling her dress off over her head, she cast him a withering glance over her shoulder. “Then talk, Rhys,” she replied, padding in her shift to her clothes chest and searching for something clean.

Rhys watched her in silence, swallowing hard as she wriggled into a new dress, flattening it against her body before cinching the waist in tightly with the ties. When he still didn’t speak, she stepped past him and returned to the kitchen. “Well?”

He followed and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anwen, there is talk in the village.”
She just about prevented herself from rolling her eyes as she stepped down into the small, cool pantry, carrying a candle with her to help her search for something edible. There was always talk in the village, and from experience she knew it was never any good. Not when it concerned her, anyway.

“Anwen, are you listening to me?”

“Of course, Rhys, after all there’s no one else here for you to be talking to.” Filling her hands with withered vegetables, she returned to the kitchen and put them down on the table, drawing a sharp knife from the drawer and using it to slice them into oblivion.

“Well then, aren’t you curious to know what is being said?”

She raised her head and stared flatly at him. “Why should I be? In my time here they have never had a decent word to say about anyone. I have no interest in malicious talk, Rhys, so please, do not repeat whatever lies they are spreading. If all you have to say to me is whatever gossip they are spreading, then I would rather not speak with you at all.”

Not waiting for his answer, she grabbed the bucket from beside the fire and stumped outside to refill it with fresh. She was well aware that she was dirty, tired and irritable, and that for once it wasn’t entirely Rhys’ fault, but she had counted on him being gone by now. She had hoped to have the house to herself, peaceful and quiet, in which she could make herself something to eat and then crawl into bed. Or, perhaps, if she had felt strong enough, she might even have heated herself a bath. Just by his mere presence Rhys had ruined all of her plans, and now he wanted to talk.

Now. After all this time, in which he had left her alone night after night to brood and grow lonely, now he wanted to talk. But not about anything important, it would seem, just gossip. How many times in the early days had she told him that they needed to talk? She had lost count long before she ceased to make her silly demand. It had never helped anyway, because every time she asked he had made feeble excuses and left.

So, just this once, she was going to treat him exactly as he treated her. She couldn’t help but wonder how he would like it.

Not very much, she decided when she returned to the kitchen and found him still waiting for her, arms crossed belligerently across his thick chest. There was no sign now of the man she had once imaged herself in love with. That man was cheerful, smiling and handsome. This man was glowering, stubborn and petty. He looked like a child, and no doubt would act like one before the night was done. Anwen wished he would simply leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice gruff with the faintest hint of a sulk.

Pouring some water into the cauldron above the fire, Anwen added her chopped up vegetables and pulled her herb box from the shelf, adding pinches as she stirred. “Cooking,” she replied dryly. “What does it look like?”

Rhys pulled a face, but Anwen ignored him. There wasn’t enough for two anyway, and she had no intention of inviting him to dine with her. No doubt he was planning on going out again shortly, once he’d finished talking to her.

Suddenly seeing her route to temporary freedom, she gave her weak soup another stir, then joined him at the table. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

He looked her up and down, a touch of a sneer on his lips, before he nodded and lounged back in his chair. “I did.”

Anwen suppressed a sigh. “Well, I’m listening now. If there is something you want to say, perhaps you had best get it over with.”

Frowning, he sat forward and rested his arms on the table, fixing her with a narrow stare. “You’ve changed,” he muttered after a long pause.

Not feeling that such a statement was worthy of a comment, she simply raised her eyebrows. If she had changed, then it was through no fault of her own. He was the one who had deceived her as to his character, and any changes had been through a desire to survive. If he didn’t like the woman he had moulded her into being, then he had no one to blame but himself. It actually quite pleased her, in a faintly perverse way.

When she didn’t say anything, his lips pinched disapprovingly. “There’s talk of things in the woods,” he told her shortly. “Black horses, and the like. Síe things. You should be careful.” With a short nod, he rose from the table and headed for the door.

“That’s it?” Anwen said before she could stop herself. “That’s all you’ve got to say to me? That I should be careful, as if I’m some wayward child or faintest of acquaintances?”

Rhys stopped and turned back to her, smirking with a careless shrug. “I’d heard that you’re often seen walking in the woods, thought I ought to warn you. Wouldn’t do to get caught out, after all.”

“Caught out?” she echoed, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. “What do you mean caught out?”

“By the Síe, of course. They say they always go for the pretty ones. Best be more careful.”

Anwen felt as if she had been slapped. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

He looked vaguely surprised. “What more did you expect? You’re so mysterious. You keep to yourself and shun the company of decent, ordinary folk. You’re not natural, Anwen.”

Unable to believe quite what she was hearing, Anwen gave a short, bitter life. “What more do I expect?” she repeated, almost to herself, and then she shook her head. “What do I expect? Nothing, I suppose. I’ve managed to dissuade myself of that notion by now.”

“What are you going on about now?” Rhys demanded, taking a step towards her. “You’re always saying things beneath your breath and looking at me like that. As if you’re not happy, as if you’re dissatisfied, as if I’ve disappointed you in some way.” His mouth twisted in a sneer. “But then again no one spoils you here, do they, Lady Anwen? You act all high and mighty, as if you’re better than us, but you’re not. No one here will bow and scrape to you like they did back home, my girl. We treat you different here, because here you’re just as ordinary as the rest of us. Is that what makes you so uptight, I wonder? What would it take to loosen that hold a little, hmm?”

He reached for her, but she froze him with a look. “I think you’ve said enough for tonight, don’t you, Rhys?” she growled, stamping down on her desire to hurl insults back in his face, and set him straight on a few of his pathetic delusions. Arguing with him now would serve no purpose, besides she was too tired. Also it would do her no good to stir his temper. He would be angry enough with her in a few days as it was, best not to give him extra cause. If she pushed him too far he would beat her, she had no doubt of that, though he had yet to raise a hand to her. Men like Rhys always would, in the end. But not tonight.

For a long moment he looked at her, as if weighing things up in his mind, then he gave her a mocking smile and touched the peak of an imaginary cap. “As milady wills it,” he sneered. “I suppose you’d rather I took myself off as well, wouldn’t you?”

Anwen didn’t respond, she had learnt that it was better not to when he was in such moods. Let him make his own decisions. If she asked him to leave then he would almost certainly stay, if only to spite her. But if she asked him to stay, he might just comply, and she wouldn’t be able to bear that. Instead she turned her back on him and returned to the hearth, stirring her soup nonchalantly.

Reminded of the poor fare that would be offered to him if he were to remain, he gave a shrug and headed for the door again. “Have it your own way then. There are warmer and more welcoming places for me to spend my time. And those who better appreciate my company.”

He left before she could answer, and she smiled faintly to herself. “But I do appreciate your company, Rhys,” she murmured. “Especially when you take it off to foist upon someone else. I thoroughly appreciate it then.”

Yet even though she had won, Anwen couldn’t help feeling hollow inside. How could she feel otherwise? She was lonely and homesick, longing for the lively, warm company of her own family, now so very far away. Rhys was wrong. No one in her village spoiled her, they didn’t treat her any different to the way they treated anyone else. They were just nicer, more open people up there, who didn’t view strangers with malicious suspicion with no reason. She was normal, she’d always known that. Of course people had made much of her beauty, but Anwen had four siblings to make sure that her feet always remained on the ground and that she didn’t get above herself. If anyone needed to learn that lesson then it was Rhys, not her.

His insults didn’t even hurt anymore, and that realisation worried her more than anything else. In Rhys’ company she was becoming detached, cold, deadened and remote. With so much enmity thrown at her from all sides, she did what she had to in order to block it out. If she didn’t then she would have given in a long time ago. But Anwen was no feeble female, she was stronger than that, as her parents had raised her to be. Yet that strength was making her build walls that kept her apart from the rest of the world, and every day that tender, soft-centre of herself grew further and further away, squashed into tighter and tighter spaces. She was beginning to fear that before too long it would be lost forever.

“Only two and a bit more seasons, Anwen, hold on,” she told herself firmly, pulling the soup off the heat and tasting it, trying not to grimace at the poor taste. “Just a little longer. You can make it, get through, survive. Hold on.”

Sitting down to eat another meal alone, she sank into a weary stupor, slowly turning Rhys’ warning over in her mind. Clearly someone didn’t want her walking in the woods anymore. They had noticed her escape route, and had moved to cut it off. No one in the village would dare follow her into the trees, a fact which she had always suspected. Now she knew. It was a faint victory of sorts, and yet they were rousing rumours to try and stop her.

What would happen if she didn’t stop walking in the woods? Would they start talking about her again? Perhaps they would accuse her of meeting with Síe?

Sighing heavily to herself, she finished her soup and filled the empty pot with water, too tired to clean it properly now. If she chose to ignore Rhys’ warning, and continued to walk in the forest, when the Síe did return for an attack - as they always did and would - then the blame would fall squarely on her shoulders. Anwen knew she was strong, but she wasn’t at all certain that she was quite that strong. Rhys wouldn’t bother protecting her then, she just knew it.

Crawling into bed, she made herself a nest out of the blankets and curled up like a small animal, sighing with defeat. After tomorrow, after her brush with freedom, she would do as Rhys had suggested and keep out of the woods. It would be safer that way. The villagers might hate her, and she might dislike them in her turn, but she would do anything not to provoke them. All she had to do was see out the end of her hand-fasting, and then she could go home.

“Two and a bit more seasons,” she reminded herself. “Hold on, Anwen, hold on.”

Chapter Two
The Síe Woods

‘Out of this wood do not desire to go;
Thou shalt remain here whether thou wilt or no.’
Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act Three, Scene I)

Something woke Anwen to complete darkness. Confused, she sat up and waited for her eyes to adjust. Beside her, Rhys was snoring as was his wont, spread out across the bed and leaving her with only the slenderest of spaces. One arm had been thrown possessively across her ribs, but she slid away from it. Then everything was drowned out by a growl of heavy thunder.

Rain danced on the roof, and she smiled to herself, slipping eagerly out from under the covers. It wasn’t cold, the air was too close for that, so she padded out into the kitchen in just her shift and opened the shutters. A flash of lightning jagged over the forest and she waited, breathless, for the thunder to follow. It was almost instant and very loud. Perfect.

Whilst Rhys continued to snore in the bedroom, utterly oblivious, she stole her chance and quickly gathered up some clothes for the day, grabbing a small pack for her water skin. Then she pulled on her boots and flung her heavy cloak about her shoulders, tucking her hair beneath the hood. Satisfied that she would be more than capable of foraging something edible for herself throughout the trip, she slipped outside and into the storm.

The rain was far heavier than she had expected, but she laughed joyously as it hammered against her head, and ran away from the house, away from the village and into the shadows of the forest. She knew it wasn’t wise to hang around underneath trees when there was lightning about, but Anwen was in no mood to be wise. She just wanted freedom.

Despite the storm gloom, the darkness of the woods wasn’t entirely complete and so she knew dawn was approaching. It cheered her as she fought her way through the scrub beneath the birches and oaks, and stumbled out onto a worn path. From the looks of things it led down to the lakeshore, and was one she had never used before. Feeling adventurous, Anwen adjusted the lie of her cloak and trudged on, revelling in the squelching sounds of the ground beneath her boots, grateful that they were well made and didn’t leak.

The thunder continued its song overhead, and every so often Anwen’s path was illuminated for the briefest of moments by the lightning. She kept her eyes on the ground beneath her feet though, so she didn’t have to wait as long after each flash for her vision to adjust to the gloom once more.

All around her the world was quiet beneath the sounds of the storm, and it soothed her. For a girl who had spent her entire childhood surrounded by others, Anwen found there was something oddly comforting in being entirely alone and knowing that there was no one else nearby.

Not paying much attention to where she was going, or about her surroundings, she failed to notice the light gradually growing around her, or that the storm was drifting further and further away. Instead she was lost to waking dreams, recalling the explorations and adventures of her childhood. The sound of her brother, Idris, protesting when she beat him at some game or another, and the rush of such victories. The ripple of her mother’s amusement, and the deep rumble of her father’s laughter. The soft melody of her sister humming, and the deep tenor of her oldest brother, Neirin, as he accompanied her. The cold rain on her face was joined by a warm tear or two, but Anwen dashed them angrily away. She was strong, she would not give in. Not now, not yet.

Rhys might not be around to witness her weakness, but he was the cause of it. She wouldn’t allow him to beat her, not even where he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing it. She was stronger than him, she had to be. Now was not the time to give in.

At some point during her walk - she wasn’t quite sure when - a shadow appeared, quietly keeping pace with her through the trees just off to the left. More than once she turned to try and see what it was, but she had entered the darker realm of the beeches now, and could never get a good enough look. Still, the shadow didn’t appear menacing. In fact it seemed almost friendly, wanting to keep her company. She didn’t begrudge it a little companionship, and soon ceased to try and see it. From the corner of her eye it looked like a big, shaggy hound, but she knew it couldn’t be. All the dogs in the village were kept under close guard, and any wolves that ventured so far from the mountains were hunted or driven away. Besides, it was bigger than any of those dogs or wolves, and sent a tingle of awareness prickling across her skin. Not wishing to dwell on any other possible explanations, she ignored it.

Eventually her path took her out of the tree shadows and down to the very edge of the lake, where the light of morning was stronger. Rain still tumbled down, turning the calm surface into a riot of ripples. For a long moment she stood there and watched. For all that she had spent her entire life living on these very shores, she hadn’t actually seen the lake all that much. No one did if they were wise. Things lived in the lake; kelpies, swan maidens, limniads, water-wights and even the occasional selkie. The drowning Síe. Tales and experience warned any duhsíe human away from such places. True, many types of Síe also roamed the woods that surrounded Dasidhne, but those that lived beside the water were particularly dangerous.

Standing there in the rain, looking out over the lake that stretched away as far as her eye could see, Anwen couldn’t help but think it beautiful. Then again, many deadly things were coupled with attractive looks. Her mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile as she wondered if that was true of herself. She supposed she wouldn’t know unless Rhys pushed her too far.

It wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought for her morning of freedom, so she turned aside from the lake and continued on with the path. She didn’t want to think about Rhys today, or the village, or anything that she had left behind. She wanted to think of something else, something more. She wanted to pretend to be someone else.

When the path veered away from the lake again, she found that her shadow was still with her, patiently padding alongside, just a short distance away in the trees. It felt like a silent guardian and she welcomed its presence, even if she didn’t understand it. Perhaps it was protecting her from less benign denizens of the wood.

Another twist in the path and she discovered a house, half-hidden by the trees, where the lesser foliage of the forest had crept out to reclaim the cleared space once more. Obviously uninhabited, Anwen felt sorry for the forgotten place, not to mention curious about it. Never one to pass up an opportunity to explore a mystery, Anwen headed for the front door with a smile. Here was the perfect thing to take her mind off everything she had left behind.

Crossing what remained of the clearing, Anwen was surprised to find that there was an apparent path to the front door. On first glance she had assumed that the house had been abandoned for quite some time, but now she wasn’t so certain. Walking with more caution now, she made her way to the door and knocked.

“Hello?” she called out as the wood returned a dull thud. She waited for a long moment, but when no reply was forthcoming, she tried the latch and blinked as it gave way.

Inside all was dark and cool, smelling faintly of damp and decay. There was no dust or leaves beneath her feet as she walked though, so she judged it had been abandoned less than a year. “Hello?” she called again. “Is there anyone here?”

A flurry of wings above her head made her jump, and she spun around with a stifled shriek as a piece of blackness rushed towards her. Ducking down, she huddled against her knees, while the crow cawed a warning and vanished out into the day.

“Damn birds,” she grumbled, brushing dirt off her skirt from where she had knelt on the floor. “Anything else in here?” she shouted.

Only the creak of a shutter flapping in the wind replied, and she gave a shrug before creeping further into the house. After all, if nobody lived here, then surely they wouldn’t mind her taking a little shelter from the weather. The fact that the rain had almost stopped now was neither here nor there.

The house was small and all on one level, but it was neat and well laid out. The front door opened into the kitchen, with a small pantry off to one side. The briefest glance inside surprised Anwen, because it was well stocked. Frowning at the mystery, she decided to explore it further later on, and continued with her inspection of the house. There was a main bedroom, with the bed still freshly made up, as if expecting its master home at any moment, and another all-purpose room, with a large fireplace, a rocking chair and a child’s crib.

“Where have you gone?” Anwen whispered to the vanished ghosts, picking up the sewing basket that had been placed beside the chair. Inside were stockings to be darned, a torn skirt and baby clothes.

There was an expectant air to every room, as if the owners had stepped out for the briefest of moments, soon to return. Yet the cold fires and broken shutter told her that whoever had once inhabited the house lived there no longer. Beginning to feel slightly unsettled, Anwen returned to the pantry and began inspecting the food. It was all modest fair, but enough for at least one person to survive on for many days.

Taking them out of the darkness, she opened the kitchen shutters and inspected her finds. Some of the fruit had been nibbled by mice or was starting to go off, but the vegetables were still mostly good. Even the goat’s milk appeared to have only just passed its best.

Someone had been in the house within three or so days, Anwen estimated, but there was no sign that they had been back since. It was a most tantalising mystery, and all her snooping and thinking had made her hungry. Assuring herself that there was nothing to feel guilty about, she cut herself thick slices from the slightly stale loaf, and spread them with what remained of the butter. Her stomach gurgled appreciatively, and she poured herself a cup of apple juice, surprised by the sweet taste of it. Tidying up after herself, she couldn’t help thinking it was a great shame to let the food go to waste, yet to take more would definitely be stealing.

“If only I knew where the owners were, or if they were coming back,” she murmured to herself, tidying up the pantry a little, before taking the ruined fruit outside and throwing it into the bushes for the birds. After all there was no sense in leaving it all to rot inside, spreading its taint on to everything else.

“So wasteful,” she complained, then took the remains of the loaf and put it in her bag. Unless the inhabitants came back by nightfall, then the bread would be inedible anyway. With that thought in mind, she also took the last of the fruit, which appeared to be on the verge of turning bad.

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she whispered. “I’ll come back again soon, and if you’re here, then I’ll find a way to pay you back. I promise.”

Her conscience assured, she closed all the shutters and headed for the front door again. Yes, the house was a mystery, but it wasn’t one she wanted to solve. Not now. The expectant air inside had turned to one of watchfulness, and she no longer felt either welcome or comfortable. There was something very strange about the place, and she had no desire to hang around and find out what. For such a human looking place, it certainly had a Síe feel.

By the time she shut the door behind her, securing the latch as she went, Anwen was breathing as if she had just run a race. Her heart was racing, and she had no idea why. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but the woods outside no longer seemed as peaceful and friendly.

“You’re a fool, Anwen,” she scolded herself, tucking her cloak tighter about her shoulders and hurrying along the path, heading away from the lake. The air had a familiar tingle to it, one which she hadn’t experienced for many a year. But it was one that once felt was never forgotten: strong Síe. If she didn’t know better - or at least hope otherwise - she would have said there was a kelpie nearby. Her family had always had a heightened sense of awareness, with Anwen and Idris more attuned than the rest. They could feel the presence of Síe long before they appeared and, when close enough, could even tell what type it was, whether it was visible or not.

It had been a long time since she had felt anything so close or so starkly. In fact it had only happened once, and that time she had been too enchanted to know what she was doing. Kelpie. There was a kelpie nearby.

“Away from the water, away from the water,” she told herself and hurried along the path, unwilling to look over her shoulder, certain that she would see pools of water and a handsome horse making its way steadily ashore.

Yet the further from the lake she walked, the stronger the presence became, until she was shaking with apprehension, her skin tingling unbearably, her mind packed tight with pressure. It was unbearable. Just as she was about to scream, and flee blindly in any direction - as long as it was away - the intention shifted. The relief crashed around her so swiftly that she stumbled to her knees, gulping in great gasps of air and almost sobbing. But something was still nearby, something shrouded, hidden, secret. She hadn’t known that the Síe could do that - hide their very essence so as to avoid detection. She was certain that had anyone else of her family been present, save Idris, that they would no longer feel the slightest thing.

Part of her was grateful to the unseen Síe for attempting to alleviate her distress, but the rest of her was nervous. Clearly it was watching her, but what did it want?

Licking her lips anxiously, she climbed back to her feet and looked carefully around. A black hound was sitting on the path a few strides behind her. Noticing it had her attention, a long, plumed tail began to slap the wet earth and ears pricked up in welcome.

“Oh, sweet stone,” Anwen whispered, one hand reaching against her throat in horror as she backed up a step. “It can’t be.”

Now the reason for such strength became clear as the shaggy black hound rose to all fours, so big that its shoulder would be level with her waist. The tail still waved in a friendly way, but Anwen was past acknowledging such details. This was her silent companion in the forest. This was the powerful presence. Ancient as it was, it was no wonder its mere appearance had almost overwhelmed her. Why hadn’t she felt it before?

The hound approached cautiously, ears flat to its head, tail sagging so that only the tip wagged, but Anwen wasn’t fooled. Docile it may seem, but she would never touch it.

“Keep back!” she commanded, though her voice wavered. She knew all about this one, oldest of the Síe save one other. It wasn’t dangerous, exactly. At least, it wasn’t likely to kill her, but it was more than capable of making things exceedingly difficult.

The Púka, ever playful, the joker, the prankster. The original trick pony. Younger brother to the Cíar Eichúalla.

Its favourite game was taking people for rides, whether in pony, hound or eagle shape, running (or flying) until its passenger was beyond exhaustion, whereupon it would drop them and gallop off into the night, leaving only its laughter behind as proof of its existence. What did it want with her?

“Keep away!” she pleaded as it shuffled closer. “I will not ride you.”

The Púka snorted, then padded right up to her, apparently unconcerned for what she thought.

“I mean it!” she shrieked, turning on her heel and running blindly down the path. It wasn’t clever, she knew that, but she simply had to get away. All her life she had been taught never to run from hounds - it only encouraged them to chase. She had no doubts that the Síe were just the same.

For a moment all she could hear was her own laboured breathing, affected more by her fear than the exertion, and she hurried around a bend in the track. Staggering to one side of the path, she leaned against a tree, panting and trying to regain control of herself. It hadn’t followed. She was safe.

In the distance a series of joyful barks spooked rooks from the trees, causing them to rise in a great, black, cackling cloud, before the sharp noise grew closer. Feeling like a doe caught out by a hunt, Anwen stumbled deeper into the trees, not thinking about anything other than getting out of sight. Arms flailing, she tripped over a low bank and crashed into the soft earth beneath, not caring that it was wet from the recent rains.

Barely daring to even breathe, Anwen peered over her shoulder and waited. Back on the path a black shape swept past, followed by the sound of swift hoof beats, and the barking receded into the distance once more. Lying perfectly still, Anwen allowed her heart to calm down and her breath to steady before she risked moving. There was a scratch on her face, grazes on her hands and knees, and her ankle was throbbing faintly. But none of that mattered. She was safe. It had been a close thing, but she was safe.

Unwilling to leave the protective shadows of the woods, Anwen decided against returning to the main track, and instead pushed on through the trees. This day was about adventure, after all. Perhaps meeting the Púka and his friend had been a bit too adventurous, and keeping away from the known trails would certainly lessen her chances of coming across them again. Besides, what good was exploring if one only walked the well-trodden ways?

With such thoughts in mind, she limped on, feeling her spirits rise. The sense of the Púka had faded and the watchful air of expectation was gone. She felt lighter, and remembered that she was enjoying a day of freedom. She was determined to make the most of it.

Sunlight slanted in through the canopy, throwing dappled shadows of green and gold across the forest floor, dancing as the breeze whispered through the oak, alder, rowan and birch leaves. Birds trilled and sang in the thickets, and all around her life went on.

Pausing in a shaft of warm light, she took off her cloak and stowed it in her pack, taking out a withered apple and walking on again. Bright eyed, she stared around, taking in as much of life as she could. The deeper into the trees she walked, the more strange and wondrous it became. The trees contorted into unusual shapes, draped with lichen and ivy. Last autumn’s leaves still clung in places, bringing additional colours to the deep green and black shades. Spider’s webs were strung between the boles, glistening with the aftermath of the rain, catching the sunshine and throwing out tiny rainbows.

As she pushed further on, her awareness heightened, bringing prickles to her skin, but after her experience with the Púka she knew she was in hardly any danger. Whatever Síe surrounded her now were far more interested in their own lives to go interfering with hers. As if to support this thought, a fox crossed her path, stopping momentarily to stare at her. Green eyes glowed, ears pricked curiously, before it sneezed and hurried away.

Everything had a touch of Síe magic about it, Anwen realised, getting lost in the sensations of the woods. There was no malevolence directed towards her, only a mild, detached curiosity, that tickled against her skin like a continual shaft of sunlight. It was everywhere; in the song of the birds, the rustles in the undergrowth, the trees and even the rocks buried beneath her feet. All of it was alive, all of it was aware, and she thought it was beautiful.

When she came across a small clearing, through which a chattering brook ran, she decided to stop for her noon-meal. There was a large flat rock, entirely situated in the sun, so she walked over to it and crouched down.

“Ancient father,” she murmured, gently smoothing the weather surface with her hand, “I hope you don’t object to me sharing your beautiful spot.”

Her palm prickled, but she decided that permission had been given, and lowered herself to sit upon the stone, before digging through her pack for something to eat. Everyone in Anwen’s family had been raised to respect the Síe and their way of life. It was far better to ask permission of an ordinary thing, than to take advantage and be caught out by it being Síe after all. Rhys thought she was mad when she spoke to the trees, the rocks or the flowers, saying that if she wasn’t careful she’d soon be fae herself, but then he didn’t truly believe in the dryads, the oreads or limoniads. Which was probably the main problem with his village and the Síe, she decided, picking at a piece of bread and chewing thoughtfully. They only believed in the things that threatened them, but the Síe were about so much more than that. It wasn’t all wights and kelpies.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the clearing, lulled by the sunlight and soothed by the brook, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to leave. All around her life continued; small birds came to the water’s edge to drink, deer shadows shifted in the woods and the wind sighed through the grass, carrying news to the creatures in the trees. More than once she imagined a face appeared in one trunk or another, but whenever she turned for a closer look, she simply found a strange pattern in the bark. Once she even imagined a little man made out of pebbles had rolled up to look at her.

Smiling, she lay back against the stone with a yawn, beginning to feel ever so slightly drowsy. It was so pleasant in the clearing. Somewhere, far off in the woods, a bird was singing. Wishing to listen closer to it, she shut her eyes and concentrated on that sound alone, near breathless as she followed the swooping highs and lows and trilling notes. It was beautiful.

A violent shiver rippling through her body was what woke her to a cold and twilight world, so very different from the warm paradise she last remembered.

Anwen sat up with a jerk, casting around her to regain her bearings, cursing herself for her carelessness. She was deep in the woods, far away from the path, and it was getting dark. It was one thing to wander aimlessly in the daytime, but quite another to do the same at night. For one thing the darkness brought the wights.

Even thinking about them caused her to shudder, and she scrabbled in her pack for her cloak, throwing it gratefully around her shoulders as she got to her feet. Frowning down at the stone that had provided her with a bed for the entire afternoon, she sighed. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I wish you hadn’t let me fall asleep.”

The rock said nothing, and silence gathered about her, all the more menacing for its contrast to the scene earlier in the day. Pulling her cloak more tightly against herself, she turned and hurried away, trying to retrace her footsteps from that morning. Scurries and whispers filled the edge of her hearing, bringing with them the prickle of uneasy sensations against her skin. These were not so pleasant, and became more of an irritating itch. Anwen was happy to put up with them, however, just as long as they stayed faint.

An owl hooted a hunting call somewhere above her, and she ducked just in time as it swooped low, pouncing on its prey in the bushes, securing it beneath its talons. Feeling sympathetic to the plight of the small creature, she raised a hand to her throat, stifling her own gasp. The tawny owl swivelled its head, great, round, green eyes staring insolently at her, before it took off and was once more lost to the gloaming.

“They’re everywhere,” she whispered to herself, feeling a shiver at the memory of those green eyes, and hurried on once more. It would take her a good long while to reach the path again, but as long as she had a destination, she didn’t allow herself to worry. Perhaps she would find her way back to that house again and shelter there for the night. It sounded good to her, especially as she had no desire to return home to Rhys until tomorrow morning.

All she had to do was get there. Stumbling and tripping over roots in the ever deepening dusk, she continually scraped her hands against brambles and bark, using them to stop herself from falling whenever she could. Her dress and cloak tangled and tore with alarming frequency, and she tried not to panic, knowing that the way hadn’t been anything like as overgrown that morning.

As the moon was rising over the tops of the trees, sending spears of ghostly light down amongst the shadows, Anwen staggered out onto a path, falling to her knees with relief. Her knees were bloodied by grazes and covered in dirt, while her dress was tattered and torn, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she had found a path, and that would eventually lead her to safety.

Standing up again, she walked on, trying to keep herself calm, while all the time she grew more and more aware of moving shadows in the darkness. Like pieces of moonlit mist they drifted to and fro on unfelt winds, whispering in cold, chilling voices just on the edge of hearing. The true danger of the forest at night: the wights.

Warnings prickled all across her skin and Anwen whirled about, screaming as a cloud of wights floated onto the path behind her. There were faces in the malformed mist, hollow eyes that glowed with sickly green lit, and mouths that gaped hungrily. Narrow arms reached for her, pointed fingers groping for her warmth.

A rush of wings brushed against her face, and she was freed from the wights’ spell, turning around and running once more. The owl swooped across her path again, flying always where she could see it, the ghostly markings identifying it as a barn owl. Anwen followed, turning aside when it did, crashing through the trees and tripping out onto yet another path, this one the one that she recognised.

Gasping, she clutched the trunk of a nearby elm, while the owl landed on an oak across the way. “Th-thank you, little brother,” she panted.

The owl bobbed its head in acknowledgement and opened its wings. Before it took off though, it looked over her shoulder, green eyes flaring, before it issued a shrieking hiss.

Exhausted, Anwen turned and moaned in horror as the cloud of wights wafted purposefully in her direction, slowly but surely, and gathering others to its group as it moved. “Leave me be,” she begged, and staggered away. The owl had gone, she was on her own, but at least she knew where she was now.

With one hand clutched to her ribs, which ached with a stabbing stitch, and limping on her tired legs, Anwen lurched fearfully forward, not knowing what posed the greater risk to her - the wights behind or the lake ahead. Certain death followed, that she did know, while the lake might hold a greater threat, or nothing at all.

She had no choice but to risk it.

Moonlight rippled on the water, lending brightness to the otherwise colourless scene. Nothing moved in the darkness, save the silver clouds skulking across the sky. Anwen hurried on, focusing only on the path before her feet. Whispers kept her company, and she put all her energy into escaping them.

And then suddenly, appearing out of the darkness like a wondrous blessing, the house lay before her. In one window burned a candle as if beckoning all lost souls to its safety.

Near sobbing with relief, she staggered up to the door and hammered against the wood, rattling the latch, which stayed distressingly locked. “Please, help me,” she called. “Please. Please!”

Behind her the ghostly wave of wights crept on, glowing beneath the light of the moon. She sank down on the stone step, pressing back against the wood, her fingers scratching with weak desperation, hoping for salvation as the wights whispered her name. Their hands reached, their mouths opened and their eyes froze her in place.

“Please,” she whimpered.