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© 2015 Matthew Cox

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Cover Art by Chris Malidore

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ISBN 978-1-62007-774-0 (ebook)

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ISBN 978-1-62007-776-4 (hardcover)

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ardy bristles raked over Emma’s toes as she worked her grandmother’s handmade broom, taller than she was, back and forth. She kept her gaze down, avoiding looking into the dark pines of Widowswood so close to her home. The murk among the trees felt alive―as if it stared at her―even though such things were the stuff of Nan’s nonsense tales. Yet, as much as she couldn’t believe them, she still refused to look up. Uneven boards shifted with her weight as she inched across the porch of her family’s modest house, accompanied by a steady rhythm of scratching.

The wind whispered as it teased through the trees, but no breeze reached the village. She leaned on the broom while wiping sandy grit off the sole of her foot against her shin. An eerie roar, deep, pained, and not quite human, rang out in the distance, startling birds from the treetops.

Emma jumped and clutched the broom handle to her chest, not breathing as she squinted into the woods. Darkness lurked in the gaps of the forest; nothing moved. The stillness broke a moment later; that time, the noise seemed less monstrous, merely an unseen huntsman’s shout echoing among the boughs. She relaxed, and resumed sweeping. Father would be home soon. His patrol would end when the sun set over the village.

When she was three quarters of the way done, a sudden breeze carried spinning whorls of dirt from the road up onto the porch where she had swept, ruining her work. Emma grumbled, trudging to the right to start again from the beginning. Father had chosen to build their house close to the village edge, where the street was little more than a wide footpath worn through the grass. Emma scowled at the drifts of grit and rushed through the re-dirtied porch with a series of haphazard swipes.

Why do I sweep this at all? It’ll just get dirty again.

Satisfied with her slapdash effort, she stepped with care through the already-swept patches and worked the round-bristled broom back and forth at the point she left off. Her knees peeked out from under grey flax; she would soon need a new dress, having gotten too big to wear this one much longer. Emma had already worn it well past the point of Father’s approval. Mother seemed at ease with it, even if it did leave her looking like an urchin. The threadbare garment had a torn seam, frayed threads, several holes, and kept sagging down off her left shoulder. Emma adored it because Nan had made it for her. She would much rather wear it than something from the town tailor, made for no one specific. This dress was hers, and it made her feel safe.

She stalled, leaning on the broom again with a somber stare at the distant buildings. The watch paid well. Father could afford to buy clothes―nice clothes―and seemed embarrassed at how she traipsed about. Emma wanted to wear this dress until it didn’t fit anymore. Nan was getting old, her fingers were not as nimble as they used to be, and she feared her grandmother would not be able to make another one.

A lump formed in Emma’s throat. The wind picked up again, slipping through the forest and tousling her hair. Nan wouldn’t be with them for much longer. Two of grandmother’s friends had passed recently. It had been two years since Father’s old dog, Wooly, had refused to wake up. She was eight then, and still cried a little whenever she thought about the mutt. That dog had been old for as long as she could remember, and from the way Father spoke of him, he’d lived too long. Emma stared at her toes, wondering how much worse it would feel to lose Nan. She knew it was coming, but that didn’t make the idea hurt any less. She wanted to spend more time with her grandmother, but most of her day went toward taking care of her little brother while Mother went into town and Father kept everyone safe.

It made her feel important, helping ease the burden on Mother and allowing her daily visits to the villagers to resume. Everyone loved Mother, and there would always be people coming to visit while she was stuck at home to watch Emma’s baby brother.

A snapping twig made her glance into the murk of Widowswood with a twinge of unease.

Nothing is watching me. Stop being childish.

Emma turned the broom, spinning it on a long clump of bristles. It felt like forever ago since she’d been Tam’s age, and her only worry had been how she would play. She set her jaw in determination and resumed sweeping. It’s okay. Mother needs my help. Mother appeared as Emma made it to the far end of the porch, walking out from where the distant buildings grew too thick to see past. She waved, and Emma stood as tall as she could to return it. Mother chatted with a few wandering people on her way up the long, curved trail leading from the town proper to their home. Feeling guilty, Emma hurried back to the poorly swept areas.

Mother walked up onto the porch, pausing for a warm hug. “How is the house?”

“Good, Mama. Tam’s inside, Nan’s having a nap.”

“No faeries steal anything?” Mother winked.

“Mother.” Emma frowned. “I’m too old to believe in faeries. Bad luck and carelessness isn’t the work of faeries.”

“So smart, Emma.” Mother gave her a light pat on the cheek. “Come help me with dinner when you’re done here?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Emma wiped the grit from her feet again and spent a few minutes chasing sand off the porch with the broom.

“Apple for a bit?” chirped a voice.

The sickly sweet scent of fermenting fruit lofted on the wind. Emma pulled her hair out of her eyes and glanced down the three steps to the road. A grimy redheaded girl a year or two younger than her shied away from Emma’s stare, digging her toes into the road and forcing a smile. Her once-white dress was ripped and stained, in worse shape than Emma’s, and she held out a wide, flat basket with a number of sorry-looking apples, most of which seemed to have been plucked from the ground. Small cuts and scrapes marked her legs, evidence of a trip through the underbrush. Faint dark discoloration painted the child’s cheek, below her right eye. Even at ten, the sight of the other girl filled her with a motherly urge.

“Minnit,” said Emma, spinning on her heel and leaning the broom against the wall. She darted inside and found her mother cutting vegetables by the large iron cauldron.

A plump robin perched on the tiny window above the cooking area chirped, tilted its head at Emma, and chirped again. Mother whistled on and off at it, as if mimicking bird noises.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Mama, can I have a copper bit?”

Mother stilled her knife and smiled at her. Like her daughter, her long raven tresses had a faint curl, and her eyes were deep blue. Everyone said Emma was a smaller version of her, and would look the same when she grew up―a fate Emma proudly accepted. She wondered if Nan had been pretty too.

“For what, Em?”

Emma raised an arm to point at the door. “Kimber is selling apples; she looks hungry.”

A look of worry flashed through Mother’s eyes. She set down the knife and crossed the kitchen in two steps to peer through the curtained window. With a sigh, she moved to a drawer and rummaged through a brown cloth pouch. Emma folded her hands in front of herself, waiting, eyeing a round wheat bread as big as a cat’s head among the vegetables.

“Go ahead, Em.” Mother handed her two copper coins, and the bread. “Awful about that poor girl’s father. I’ve half a mind to have your pa pay that drunken lout a visit.”

Emma smiled, hugged her mother, and scurried for the door. Kimber waited a short distance from the porch, swaying back and forth with an eager expression. When Emma held out the two copper bits, the girl’s eyes watered up. She hefted the basket.

“Thank you, Miss. Take any two you please.”

Emma sifted through the apples, searching for ones without obvious worms. Many still had bits of branch clinging to them. She chose two that did not look rotten, and left the large roll in their place. Kimber stared at it for a moment, almost afraid. She bit her lip and glanced toward town, turning as if to hide the bread from anyone in that direction. The wind gusted, making them both shiver.

“Kinnae sit ‘ere an’ eat it?” Kimber shot a frightened, sad stare into the dirt path.

“Kay.” Emma gestured at the porch, and joined her on the step.

The younger girl held the round loaf to her face like a squirrel with an acorn and gnawed, tearing into it as though it would be ripped from her hands at any moment. Kimber peered up every few bites with smiling eyes. Emma’s happiness dimmed at the realization some of the dirt on the girl’s face was not dirt at all, but bruises.

“Come back if you’re hungry again.” Emma traced lines in the trail with her toe.

Crumbs fell out of Kimber’s grin. She mumbled something like “thank you” through a full mouth.

“Sorry you get hit.” Emma scowled in the direction of town. “I should tell my pa. My pa’s a guard.”

The red-haired girl stopped eating, a mournful stare at the half-loaf in her hand. “Is okay. Da’s not bad alla time. Only when he’s got his pay and ‘as silverberry wine.” Kimber shoved the bread into her face, nibbling.

Emma smirked and leaned back on her hands, gazing into the waning daylight. Nan would say she should ask the spirits to aid the other girl. Father thought people should pray to the gods for help with events outside their control. She picked at a frayed thread by her hip. Spirits and gods weren’t real, and even if they were, they wouldn’t care about one tiny waif among all the people of the world.

Kimber spent a minute picking crumbs out of her dress and eating them before she jumped up and curtsied. “Thank ya for the bread, Miss Emma.”

“I’m not old enough to be a ‘Miss’ yet.” Emma frowned. “Thank my mum for lettin’ me.”

Mother’s laughter leaked onto the porch.

The girl stood, faced the house, and raised her voice. “Thank ya, Miss Emma’s Mum.”

Kimber carried her basket of pathetic apples off down the street, and Emma resumed her task. Tam, her little brother, hated chores. Emma didn’t mind. The more she did, the less her mother had to do, and that was okay. The boy was only six, too young to understand much beyond the faerie tales of dragons and knights that Nan read to him. In many ways, Father was like a bigger version of Tam. Both demanded Mother’s constant attention to keep their clothes in order. Neither could cook, and more often than not, it seemed neither could dress themselves.

Emma giggled.

It took her another fifteen minutes to sweep to the edge of the porch. Nan’s face appeared in the window, smiling. Emma grinned in response, still working the broom. A moment later, a chance shift in the wind blew into town from the woods. It gathered strength, as well as the dirt from the porch, and carried it in a tiny whirlwind down the street. Emma cringed at the gust that almost knocked her over. When it died down, she held the broom up and blinked at the porch, ready to sweep again, but it was spotless. With a satisfied grunt, she turned to go inside, but startled at a sudden motion on the road.

An older girl, perhaps sixteen, stumbled down the path leading from the village into Widowswood. She emerged from the gloomy tunnel of twisted, leaning trees, looking wan and dazed, in a garment made of leaves and twigs. Emma stared at her, transfixed. The figure moved only her legs, arms dead at her sides. Sickly and thin, every rib showed through her skin. Her mouth agape, she staggered forward in a rickety gait, almost as though she had forgotten how to walk. She paid no attention to Emma. Her grey eyes held no spark of life. Unkempt brown hair hung down to her ankles, loaded with twigs and scraps from the forest floor. The young woman halted twenty paces distant and swayed in place. She raised one hand to cover her mouth; the look she gave the village was one of utter astonishment.

The clack of the wooden broom handle striking the porch made the strange girl yelp and startle. She looked up, staring at Emma as if she had no idea what another human being even was.

“Mama!” Emma wanted to shout, but whimpered. She swallowed, backing away into the wall. “Mama!” she yelled as she sidestepped closer to the door. “Mama, come here.”

Mother appeared at the door. “What’s the matter, Em?”

Emma pointed. Mother’s eager smile fell away to a look of worry. She gathered Emma into the house with a hand on her shoulder.

“Go inside, Em. Help Nan.”

mma walked backwards into the house, unable to pull her gaze away from the wasted figure now standing motionless in the road until Mother, still outside, closed the door. Warm air and the scent of garlic and baking potatoes did little to ease her nerves. Emma kept going until the edge of the table touched her back. An unlit candlestick fell over. She whirled at the sudden contact, gasping at the sight of her grandmother so close behind her.

Nan’s gnarled fingers slid through Emma’s hair. “What’s got your blood hiding? You’re pale like a banshee.”

“There’s a sick lady outside. Mama told me to help you.”

“Well, now Emma. Sick people don’t often scare you.”

“Uhh.” Emma gave her grandmother a helpless look. “Something’s wrong. She felt strange.”

Wisps of Nan’s white hair drifted to the side, dangling from her black shawl. The wind seemed to blow right through the house. Despite the glowing orange fire, Emma shivered. Nan leaned her head as if to peer through the wall, milky eyes widening.

“She’s alive,” said Nan. “Go wash your hands.”

Emma ran out the back door and over to the pump ten paces away. She worked the lever until a spurt of water came out and rubbed it over her hands and arms. A sprawling meadow filled the land between the rear of their house and the tree line where Widowswood curved around the side of the village. Bugs of all sizes zoomed and fluttered above the grass. A large, white butterfly caught her attention as it meandered in a drunken spiral, stark against the distant forest. She froze, water dripping from her fingers. The puddle around her feet seemed to turn cold all at once. For no reason she could explain, she found herself staring at the forest again.

Something unseen among the trees was watching her.

She darted back into the house, slamming the door and leaning all her weight against it, hard enough to knock Father’s spare riding tack from its peg on the wall.

“Emma!” shouted Nan, clutching her chest. “What’s gotten into you?”

Her heart raced. Emma looked at the door, at Nan, back at the door, and then at the bit, bridle and gloves at her feet. She felt silly for being afraid of the dark. “Nothing.”

The eeriness faded away as she scolded herself for acting like a little girl. After she hung Father’s things up, Nan guided Emma to the table and slid a bowl of dough in front of her before dropping a cloth next to it.

Emma dried her hands and set to task without protest, kneading. Tam sprawled on the floor closer to the bed, his stick-knight battling a shrub-dragon. She smiled, watching him play while she worked for a few minutes in silence. Nan portioned out various spices and herbs for the rest of the baking.

Minutes later, soft thumps on the porch approached the door; Emma looked up, hoping it was Father. Whatever was in the woods wouldn’t dare try anything with him home.

You’re being childish again. Emma sighed at herself.

Mother rushed in. She did not look at anyone, hurrying to gather a few items from Nan’s cabinet, the one they forbade her from going near. Emma froze, forearm deep in dough, while her mother collected a few pouches and ducked back outside without a word.

“Nan? Who do you think that lady is?”

One of grandmother’s few remaining teeth peeked out of a grin. “Oh, Emma… nothing you’d believe. I shan’t waste my breath on it.”

Gooey dough slid between her fingers. Nan poured herbs into the mass as Emma twisted it around. She gave it two squeezes before puffing a strand of hair out of her face and staring. “Nan.”

“Fine, fine.” The old one settled into a chair. “Her name is Hannah. Before today, the last anyone saw of her was ten years ago.” Nan rocked back, tapping a finger to her chin. “I believe she vanished only two weeks after you were born. She was about Tam’s age then.”

At the sound of his name, the boy perked up. Sensing an imminent story, he scampered over and scrambled up to lean his elbows on the table, knees on a chair. Emma took more pinches of herbal seasonings, adding them to the dough between folds.

Shouts rose up outside, the din of a growing assembly of cheers and praise to various gods, mostly Rhiannon the Matron or Baragen the Harvest Lord.

Emma rushed to the window, holding her hands up to keep from getting dough all over. Smooth glass chilled her forehead as she strained to peer towards town where a crowd had formed. Hannah shivered at the center, wrapped in a bright blue cloak of the kind worn by the town watch. It seemed as if everyone had come out to welcome the lost daughter of Widowswood home. A wobbly, heavyset woman with a shock of white through her chestnut hair required the aid of two men to avoid collapsing.

“Em, you’re making Nan not tell the story!” yelled Tam. “Come back.”

“Hannah! My daughter!” shouted the woman before breaking down in sobs. “Are you really here?”

“We thought you dead,” cried an elderly man.

Numerous people burst out in cries of joy or wails of sorrow.

“Why isn’t she speaking?” yelled a youngish male voice.

“What’s happened to her? Oh, my Hannah!” A man older than her own father, but not as much as Nan, lifted the girl off her feet into a desperate hug.

Hannah’s mother grabbed and pawed at her, as if searching for injuries.

After a moment of hanging limp, Hannah raised her arms and held on to him. Seconds later, she raised her head and looked at everyone.

At that, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Mother made her way through the group of villagers, took Hannah’s hand, and coaxed her to drink from a small bowl.

“Em! Em! Em! Em!” Tam chanted her name while slapping his hands on the table.

“Alright.” Emma sighed and trudged over.

She took her place by the bowl, jamming her hands into the dough while trying to peer out the window.

“Well, most everyone thought she wandered off into the woods. But nobody could find her.” Nan finished the chopping Mother had started, and shoved everything into the cauldron. “I can see that distrustful look in your eyes. Just like your Mother.” She winked.

Emma kneaded the soon-to-be bread. “A child wouldn’t come back from being alone in the woods. That’s why you don’t let me an’ Tam go there.”

Wrinkles accented Nan’s grin. “Do you think someone took her?”

“Goblins!” blurted Tam. “Goblins got her.”

Nan chuckled. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Not goblins, I’m afraid, Tam. Goblins would have put her in the stew.” She pointed a curved finger at him, wagging it. He laughed. “This… No, this was something worse.”

“Worse?” Emma made a face. “She’s still alive. That’s not worse than being goblin stew.”

“Emma, you don’t believe in that sort of thing, so I won’t waste what few breaths I have left on it.” Nan dropped the metal lid over the cauldron to end her sentence.

“Nan, you’re not gonna die,” muttered Emma. “And there’s no goblins and no monsters. Just bad people. I bet bandits had her, and made her cook and wash for them. When she got sick, they let her go home.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got the world figured out.” Nan picked out seasonings for the soup, dropping them in one by one. “Don’t need me ruining it for you.”

“Story!” yelled Tam, before he gave Emma a raspberry.

“No!” Emma leaned over the bowl to shield it. “Don’t do that near food.”

Tam laughed.

“Please tell me, Nan.” Emma grunted, kneading. Her arms were getting tired.

“Do you believe in goblins?”

The boy nodded.

Emma shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Faeries?”

“Uh-uh.” Emma glared at the dough. “That’s all stuff to scare little kids with.”

Nan’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “Dragons, elves, wizards?”

“Dragons can fly!” added Tam.

“No, no, and no.” Emma tried to blow a stray bit of hair off her face. “You’re being silly.”

Halfway between anger and laughter, the expression Emma wore brought a chuckle from Nan.

“What about magic?”

Emma sighed. “There’s no such thing.”

“What of the wizard in Calebrin? Your father met him when he was a boy.”

Tam waved his hands at her, making plosive noises as if he were some great wizard throwing fireballs.

Emma shrugged one shoulder out of her dress. “Probably an alchemist with some trick fire to scare people. Stop it, Tam. Don’t spit in our food.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. She sighed, unable to stay angry at that face.

Emma waited for a moment, but when Nan didn’t say anything more, she looked up. The old one seemed to have gone still in her chair, with no trace of her usual wheezy snoring.

“Nan?” asked Emma.

The elder didn’t react.

Emma crept closer. “Nan?”

Nothing.

“Nan!” shouted Emma.

Her grandmother didn’t move.

Emma grasped her by the shoulders. “Nan?” Emma shook her. “Nan!”

“Calm down, girl.” Nan’s eyes popped open. “I’m not dead. You’re not trying to rush me into the ground, are you?”

“No!” She sniffled. “You scared me. Why did you fall asleep like that?” Emma pouted and took two steps backward.

“I wasn’t asleep, dear.” Nan winked. “Hannah was taken by a Banderwigh.”

Tam’s eyes widened, his little hand slipped from his chin as his mouth gaped. He had no idea what that was, but it sounded scary.

Emma trudged back to the bowl, more than a little annoyed at Nan for teasing her. She picked up the glop of dough, spun it over and flung it back down. “Banderwigh? Is that another one of your faerie monsters?”

Nan’s dry chuckle turned into a cough for a moment. “Indeed, girl. Only one person has ever claimed to see him. Though, I think it is more of a they than a him.”

“I still think it was bandits,” said Emma, patting the dough into shape.

“Bandy-wee!” belted Tam, cheering.

“They are not all in one place, being solitary things. The Banderwigh lives in the darkest parts of the forest. It feasts upon sadness.” Nan leaned forward, raising her claw-like hands over the table. “It walks the land under cover of night, taking children away from hearth and home to lock them in a little place where no one can find them.” Her stare grew eerie. “There, in the dark, it makes them sad and drinks their tears to feed itself.”

The boy shivered, and scooted under the table to cling to Emma. She frowned.

“Don’t listen to her, Tam. It’s just a story to scare little boys inside at night.” Emma sprinkled some flour on a pan and dumped the unbaked bread out of the bowl. “If this monster takes people, why is Hannah back? Doesn’t it eat them or something?”

Nan clucked her tongue as she stood to grab the pan. “The Banderwigh eats sorrow, child. It drained poor Hannah of all her tears. The girl must be dead inside now, a mere shadow of a person.”

“That’s silly,” said Emma. “Monsters don’t make people go nutters. Livin’ by herself in the woods made her go nutters. She’s so skinny ’cause all she ’ad to eat was nuts and berries. What does this monster look like?” She kissed her brother atop the head. “It’s just a scary story, Tam. No one’s ever seen one.”

“Are you so sure?” Emma didn’t like the gleam in Nan’s eye. “A man, older than your father, covered in shaggy black bear-fur and unshaven”―Nan waved her open hand around her face―“with wild hair and a giant woodsman’s axe. His eyes burn with the yellow light of the Netherworld. He’s neither dead nor alive.”

Emma frowned at the dough, prodding it with her fingers. Nan’s words were scary, but she could not bring herself to believe such fancy. It was silly how serious the old woman was when talking of such things. She knew Nan was only trying to give her a fright, but she found herself holding on to the table to keep from shaking anyway.

“Probably just some poor old man who lives alone in the woods that people are afraid of for no reason.” Emma made a face at her flour-coated hands. “People always make up stories when they’re scared, or they don’t wanna do something.”

Grandmother smiled, ambling to the stove on three legs, two living and one wooden. She hooked her cane in the crook of her arm and opened the metal oven. After putting the bread inside, she closed the door and added another two hunks of wood to the fire. Emma wiped her hands on a rag. Nan wobbled closer, leaning two shaking arms on the stick to prop herself up as she fixed Emma with a stare.

“How likely do you think it to be for a girl of six to survive on her own in Widowswood? Do you think bandits would keep a pauper’s daughter for ransom? What of the wolves, or the goblins, or the emerald creepers?”

Those, Emma believed in―spiders half the size of a horse, with bright green hair. She believed in them because she’d seen one once. It was dead, on the back of a merchant’s wagon, but it was real. Two weeks’ worth of nightmares came from that, but she’d been only five then. At Nan’s suggestion, she imagined running into one alone in the woods―one that wasn’t dead. She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering, giving Nan an accusing look for making her think such thoughts. Tonight, her dreams would be wrapped in spidersilk.

Nan chuckled. “Emma, come help me―”

The door flew open and smacked into the wall.

Emma gasped, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands. Father was home. The clatter of light brigandine armor and broadsword was even louder than the sound of his boots on the floor. All thoughts of giant spiders and child-stealing monsters with axes fled her mind.

He sighed at her. “Em, it’s high time we got you some proper clothing. You look like a beggar girl.”

She pulled the dress out to the sides, appraising it. “But Da, Nan made this…”

“Yes, she did. Two years ago, and you’ve worn it to death. It’s falling apart.” Heavy steps thudded over the floor as he crossed the room to hang his cloak on a peg and lean his weapon against the wall. “Tomorrow, we’re going into town.”

“Yes, Da,” she said, staring down at her dirty feet.

He rounded the table and put hand atop her head, drawing her into a gentle, but brief hug. He picked Tam up, spun the giggling boy around twice, and set him back in the chair. Emma smiled as he moved into the back room remove his armor.

Grandmother tapped her cane on the table. “Come, Emma, help your old Nan finish supper.”

fter dinner, Father worked out guard salaries and schedules in his logbook. Emma had perched in his lap with her cheek on his shoulder, something she hadn’t done for at least two years. Even if monsters weren’t real, a dark forest was scary. He took it as an attempt to beg him off replacing her beloved dress. Emma didn’t care to correct him. After an hour or so, he closed his book and sat with her a while longer, before carrying her to the great family bed. Tam had fallen asleep on the rug by the smoldering fireplace. Emma changed into her nightdress as Father retrieved Tam, set him on the bed, and peeled the boy’s tunic off, leaving him in his skivvies.

Emma scampered to her spot by the wall beneath the windowsill and curled up beneath the heavy blankets, staring up at the dusty boards of the ceiling. The quiet time between dinner and bed had ended too soon for her liking. Every creak the wind drew from the house made her think about the way the woods felt that morning. Nan’s story hadn’t helped. Surely, the sense of being watched couldn’t have been anything like a Banderwigh.

Tam snuggled against her; the warmth of his bare back against her cotton nightdress lulled her closer to sleep. Father went outside, standing with Mother on the front porch, the low murmur of their voices audible through the wall. Tam decided to take advantage of their parents’ part of the bed being open, and flopped away from her, arms and legs held out to take up as much room as he could.

Nan grunted, easing her weight into a stool by the side of the bed. She clutched a leather-bound book, winked at Tam, and opened it. She licked a finger, twirled it through the air, and turned the first page.

After clearing her throat, Nan spoke in a grand whisper.

“Many years ago, far off in the land of Endoriel, there lived a young knight by the name of Aemon Steelsong. He was the most trusted of the King’s soldiers.”

Emma stifled a yawn. Knights again. Is he killing a dragon or saving another princess?

“One day,” said Nan. “Minutes before sunrise, a creeping shadow slipped through a window into the castle. It had the shape of a man with no legs, and floated without sound through the hallways unseen. When it reached the master bedroom, it breathed an icy pall upon the King of Idyllmar.”

“You said it was Endoriel,” said Emma, grinding the back of her hand into her eye.

“Shh!” yell-whispered Tam.

Nan held the book to her breast, peering over it. “Idyllmar is a nation on the continent of Endoriel, to the west beyond the sea.” She lowered the book and turned a page. “King Ralas fell into a deep and terrible sleep. His skin turned blue and flaked with ice, and shadows hovered on his breath.”

Tam pulled Emma’s arm over his chest and held on.

“With the king near death, the weight of Idyllmar fell upon the shoulders of his daughter, Princess Isabelle, who was only fifteen.”

“That’s old,” whispered Tam.

Emma faded in and out of sleep as Nan went on, telling of a wizard, loyal only to money, who wanted to wrest the crown away from the young princess upon her father’s untimely death.

It had been some time now since Emma had lost interest in princess tales; even the old faerie stories seemed childish and boring. Tam loved anything involving dragons, knights, or wizards. Father claimed to have seen a real wizard in the north, in the large city of Calebrin, before he met Mother. Half awake, Emma mumbled at the thought of it.

Wizards, bah. Someone made up Banderwighs to scare kids in at night―Wizards are stories to scare grown-ups with.

“People thought the princess part elf, for her beauty, and for how kind she was. One glance from her bright blue eyes could leave a boy dazed.”

“Eww,” said Tam. “Who’s Aemon gonna fight?”

Nan held back a chuckle. “No one really knows if the princess got her looks from the Astari, but she was pure as the stories claim the elves had been. The wizard took advantage of her trusting nature, and tricked Isabelle right out from under Aemon’s nose. He convinced her the only way she could cure her father was to go into the dark and forsaken woods”―Nan leaned over Tam, making him shiver―“and retrieve a sprig of Nymph’s Breath from where the Astari Elves once dwelled, long before humans came to the land. He lied, and told her the rare plant would die if any but an innocent girl touched it.”

Emma rolled her closed eyes.

“Was Isbel imacent?” asked Tam.

“Oh, yes.” Nan winked. “So innocent, in fact, she believed the wizard’s lie and ran off into Mur’Elonnae, the Forest of Ancestors, to fetch the herb.”

“Elf words?” asked Tam.

“Yes,” said Nan.

Emma’s head felt like stone. After a short sense as though she was falling, she found herself running into an unfamiliar forest, rustling in a puffy pink dress. Stupid princesses. She scowled at thin, silver slippers tight and uncomfortable; her ungainly outfit snagged and pulled on the underbrush. She felt ridiculous, and wondered why any girl would wear such a thing―especially while running into the woods in the middle of the night.

“Isabelle left her horse at the forest’s edge,” said Nan. “She tucked her long, golden hair into a thick hood, and tightened a belt around her riding leathers. In her haste to save her father, all she had brought with her was a single torch.”

Emma’s pink princess disintegrated. Her eyes fluttered open. Nan waved her hands about while describing great birds swooping down at Isabelle, chasing her deeper and deeper into the forest.

“These were not normal birds, not buzzards nor eagles.” Nan added a twang of avian caw to her voice. “They had the faces of ill-tempered old men, and wailed and screamed at her for disturbing their sleep. Whenever she swung her torch at one, it cried out with an awful screech.”

The scarier the story got, the closer to Emma Tam moved, until he curled against her in their usual cramped sleeping position.

Nan settled back in her seat. “Isabelle wandered lost in the woods, and could not find her way out.”

In her waking dream, Emma raced about in a hapless circle, with a torch in one hand and a star-capped princess wand in the other. The morning’s eerie wind took her dream out of her control, filling the dark spaces between trees with real dread.

“She sensed it would be dark soon,” said Nan, “and so she made herself a place to sleep, knowing it dangerous to wander alone at night.”

Emma whined in her sleep; every turn her dream-self took left her more and more confused. She startled awake, and jumped again at the sight of the wrinkles on Nan’s face changing with every spooky expression she made.

“It was not until the next morning that Sir Aemon found her missing, and set off at once to find and rescue the princess. Of course, the wizard expected this.” Nan held up a finger. “He wanted Aemon away from the castle.”

Emma wanted to stay awake, even if the story was another boring “knight-saves-the-princess” tale. She wanted to be with Nan while she still could; the old woman was only trying to amuse Tam. Acting bored and disinterested felt mean. She also knew darkness and spiders waited for her if she closed her eyes. A little anger curled her lip into a snarl. She’d never been afraid of the dark before, even at Tam’s age.

Her grandmother noticed her paying more attention than usual, and it brought a gleam to her eye. Despite her effort to listen, Emma felt her eyelids growing heavy and caught herself nodding off. Nan’s voice sounded different, dream-like, as though she had become another woman, a character from the story.

“Aemon ventured into the woods in search of the Princess, but the wizard had summoned a demon who took the form of a beautiful woman. She charmed him with a stare, and fed him a brew that turned him into a statue of living ice.”

“As it turned out, it was Princess Isabelle who found Aemon, and needed to rescue him,” said Nan.

Tam grumbled.

The old one’s voice blurred as Emma drifted in and out of sleep. She caught bits and pieces of the story: a fairy queen with a promise of a potion that could help Aemon, running through the forest, and something about Isabelle getting captured and locked in a dungeon.

Nan’s retelling swelled into a new life within her half-dream―one that made Emma think she smelled the must and leather as Princess Isabelle decided not to wait around to be saved. Emma’s head dipped forward onto Tam’s shoulder.

Emma floated from her safe, warm bed into a musky underground hallway of wet grey stones, where a fifteen-year-old girl with perfect blonde hair struggled against the barred door of a tiny cell. Creatures under the control of the wizard had captured her in the night, stuffing her into a bag and dragging her through the forest. Her clothes looked expensive, but made for travel or fighting: leather armor, pants, and heavy boots. Much to Emma’s surprise, Isabelle looked angry rather than terrified.

“Aemon was a dutiful protector.” Nan’s voice floated out of nowhere. “He’d made her promise never to leave herself defenseless.”

Princess Isabelle took a dagger from a sheath at the back of her belt, and wedged it into a gap by the lock. She grimaced when it slipped out, and almost stabbed herself trying to catch it before it could bounce out of the cell. The princess’s green eyes burned with determination as she worked the blade back and forth until the door gave way.

“And so, Princess Isabelle crept through the dungeon until she found a guard asleep at his post. He wasn’t a man, but he wasn’t too far from it either,” said Nan’s disembodied voice. “A head shorter, pudgier, and much, much, smellier.”

Tam’s giggle echoed from the shadows.

“His dark green skin was as thick as armor, but his pale yellow eyes gave off no light while he slept.”

Emma’s dream self followed behind Isabelle as she tiptoed up to the snoring creature and helped herself to a plain sword on the table. With a grin of victory, the girl darted up a flight of stairs towards daylight.

The crinkle of paper moving came from everywhere as Nan turned a page.

“Pale fog rolled through the trees outside. The dawn came cold, and damp; Princess Isabelle did not know where she was. Two monstrous man-creatures, no taller than her but much thicker and stronger, walked out of the mist. Isabelle pulled back her hood, letting her hair fall to her waist and flashing her wide blue eyes. She hoped her sweet smile would make them not want to hurt her.”

“Wrong!” cheered Tam’s disembodied voice. “Hobgoblins don’t like pretty princesses.”

Princess? The thought nudged Emma back from the edge of sleep. A princess with a sword? Emma propped herself up on one arm, squinting at Nan who waved her hands around to illustrate the ensuing swordfight with a pair of creatures resembling the sleeping guard. Emma shifted, pulling her heels under her.

“The wretched creatures hissed and spat, and raked at Isabelle with knobby claws.” Nan mimicked a clawing gesture, which made Tam squeal. “Their eyes burned with hate for anything pure. When they failed to grab her, they drew weapons from their belts. If she got away, the wizard’s plan would fail, so for him, they would kill her.”

Nan flipped pages as she half described-half demonstrated a girl holding off two hobgoblins with her blade and agility.

As the princess fought, the burden of responsibility slipped from Emma’s shoulders. She stared with rapt attention, gripping her knees as her mouth hung open, and grinning as Isabelle cut one of the monster’s hands, forcing it to drop its weapon.

“Enraged, it grabbed her arm and tried to bite her throat.” Nan grabbed at Tam, who screamed. “Isabelle jumped away, but its claws raked over her hand, taking her sword away.”

Emma bit her lip when the princess stumbled, clutching the sheets to her chest with wide eyes.

Nan grinned. “Or so they thought. Isabelle’s fall was a trick, and when the monsters tried to jump on her, she rolled out of the way and got to her blade. They’d piled on each other, and before they could get up, she stabbed them through to the ground.”

Tam made a sputtering noise.

Nan stopped, glancing at him. Emma shoved at his back.

“Something the matter, Tam?” asked Nan.

“That’s silly. Princess can’t beat up hobgoblins wif a sword. The knight’s gotta save her.”

“The knight got frozen!” Emma blurted, not even realizing she had been so into the story. “She’s gotta find the hearthfire potion the faerie queen told her about to thaw him or he’ll stay trapped in ice forever.”

Nan smiled at Emma, making her feel childish.

“Knights saves princesses,” said Tam.

“Not all the time,” whispered Nan.

“Nan, does Isabelle find the potion?” Emma pulled Tam into her as though he were a living doll. He squirmed. “Does she break the spell? Do they get married?”

“Eww!” wailed Tam.

The door creaked open as a pair of yawning parents walked in.

Nan snapped the book closed. “Well, Emma. I suppose you’ll find that out tomorrow night.”

Emma whined, drawing in a breath to protest, but gasped when she saw the cover of the book: plain brown leather with the seal of the town guard. Sleep left her mind at the sight. Nan’s got father’s logbook. That’s not a storybook. She swallowed the urge to cry. Nan couldn’t see what she held. The story came out of her head, not the book. Nan’s going blind.

She crawled over Tam to get to Nan’s lap, crying.

“What in the name of Belephir did you tell them?” asked Father.

“Just a story,” said Nan. “Just a story about things your daughter is too old to believe in. It certainly wasn’t a sad one.” Grandmother gave her a pat on the back. “Come now, Em. There’s nothing to cry about. It’s time for bed.”

Emma did not move until Father plucked her from Nan’s lap and deposited her on the bed. She crawled between Tam and the windowsill, staring at Nan as the old woman ambled off down a short hallway to her own bedroom.

mma swung her feet back and forth as she sat at the table, watching her toes scuff at the floor. Father had not said a word when she had changed out of her nightdress into her favorite article of clothing, but she dreaded the day would end with her having to give it up. Two small rolls and some fruit sat untouched on the wooden plate in front of her. Tam was already outside, playing in the meadow behind the house. Father took his time eating, splitting his bread and adding a hunk or two of cheese.

“Y’avent touched your food, girl,” said Father. “We’re going into town when I’m done. I’ll not wait for you to finish if you aren’t even trying.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. “But, Da, I have a dress. I like this one. Nan made it.”

“We’ve been ‘round this before.” He took a bite, pointing at her while murmuring. He swallowed. “I’ll not have my daughter being thought of as some beggar orphan. You look like that Drinn girl. Fauen thinks we’re not takin’ proper care of you.”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” asked Mother. “Your reputation?”

He put his roll down. “Half the town thinks we refuse to feed and clothe her.”

“I talk to them too, and they most certainly do not.” Mother winked at her. “She’ll grow out of it.”

“She already has.” He gestured at her.

Emma picked up her bread, nibbling at it with disinterest. “Nan can’t make another. She can’t see the needle anymore and she’s not got much time left, like Wooly.” She rubbed the coarse cloth over her leg. “It’s like she’s wif me.”

Both of her parents stalled at the unexpected childishness in her voice, staring. Mother frowned and came over to rub her shoulder.

“That ol’ bat will outlive me,” muttered Father.

Mother squeezed Emma’s shoulder. “It is the way of all things, child. You shouldn’t be sad; she will rejoin the woods and the animals.” She kissed Emma atop the head. “Death is only the start of a magical journey.”

“You know she doesn’t believe in all that”―Father waved his hand over the table―“that faerie story stuff. What’s this about Nan not seeing?”

“And you don’t?” Mother smiled at him, patted Emma on the back and set about collecting empty plates.

Emma pointed at the shelf. “Nan was pretending to read from―”

Armored boots tromped to the door, followed by the expected loud banging―no one jumped.

“Captain Dalen?” shouted a man outside.

Father moved to answer, adjusting a burgundy tunic on the way. Emma shifted in her chair, sitting sideways to watch. Six members of the Widowswood Town Watch waited outside, five in the street.

“What is it, Haim?”

“Captain, there’s been a break in at Carrow’s Field. Someone got into the house last night. Lucky thing the boy woke up when he did. Screamed himself hoarse, he did. Woke the whole family s’well as the neighbors. The Mum got a glimpse of a burglar runnin’ off into the night. Big, hairy fellow.”

“Damn bandits.” Father left the door open and went for his armor. Emma’s head turned to follow him across the room. “Em, I need to go.” He ducked through his breastplate and buckled it under his arms. “Sorry, child. We’ll go to the tailor tomorrow.”

She gnawed on the hard roll. “Okay. Don’t get hurt.”

Once he’d gotten his armor and sword in order, he tromped over and ruffled her hair. “I won’t. It’s just a burglar. They’d rather run than fight.”

Mother handed him a leather-wrapped bundle and kissed him. He tied it to his belt, kissed her again, and rushed out to meet the guardsmen.

Emma grasped the seatback, peering over it at as Father left. The scent of weapon oil still hung in the air. After the door closed, she continued staring until Mother ran a hand over her head. She looked up, unable to hide her worry.

“Em, what’s got you worked up so? It’s not the dress business, is it? You should be happy you can wear that rag another day.”

She swung her legs around, sitting proper. “I don’t know why I’m scared.”

“He’ll be alright. He’s got the whole town guard with him.”

The berries went down faster than the bread. Mother puttered around at the cabinets while Emma ate. By the time she finished her breakfast, Mother had set a small pouch at the corner of the table.

Emma picked it up and shook it. Coins.

“Be a sweetheart and run to Marsten’s shop. There’s a list in there.”

The pouch dangled from two small fingers. “You’ve not taught me to read.”

Mother gave her a weary look. “Aye, I suppose I haven’t. We should remedy that soon. Today, give him the note.”

She slid off the chair and started for the back door.

“Don’t take your brother there. He’ll get into something dangerous and put it in his mouth.”

Emma swiveled around and tiptoed to the front door.

“Em, are you alright? I’ve not seen you so skittish in years.” Mother’s curiosity gave way to a smile of understanding. “Oh, it’s Nan’s business about that monster, isn’t it? Poor Hannah.”

Emma grasped the doorknob, afraid to turn it. “Do you believe Nan?”

“Even if I did, the story says it doesn’t come out during the day.” Mother made a shooing gesture at her. “It’s a tale to scare children inside at night, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Emma blushed, feeling foolish for being afraid of stories. “Tis.”

The road curved downhill, past open fields and a few sparse huts. Early summer winds carried the smell of meadow flowers and warmth across the road. Emma returned the smiles and waves that greeted her from passing windows. Her father’s house seemed out of place at the edge of the village. All the other homes here were single-room, dirt-floor affairs, while hers had a living room, a loft, a pantry, and a back bedroom for Nan―not to mention wooden floors. She grinned, remembering the story of how Mother had insisted they stay here, where she was born. Nan loved telling of how Father had expected his “peasant wife” to jump at the chance to live in the big city. Like Emma, Mother loved the touch of the earth on bare feet. Her family had lived in the Village of Widowswood since Nan’s Nan was Emma’s age. Mother would have been miserable cooped up in a big city like Calebrin.

Emma paused, digging a toe into the dirt road and hugging the pouch. Mother said his choosing to stay out in the sticks proved he loved her. She closed her eyes for a moment, happy to have good parents. She sighed and cast a forlorn glance at the town, wondering why the ‘gods’ the townspeople always spoke of couldn’t protect Kimber from having a bad family. The rustle of wind in the trees soon chased her guilt to the side, replacing it with worry. She crept to the edge of the path until she reached grass, gazing into the dark shadows among the shifting pines. At this hour, that poor girl would be off alone in the woods gathering apples.

She thought of Hannah and backed away from the forest, heart racing. Her favorite dress had nothing resembling a belt from which to hang the pouch, so she clutched it to her chest and ran. Wind pulled through her hair as she picked up speed, driven on by a strange sense of something chasing her. She stared down, as if not looking behind her would make it go away.

The dull thuds of her footfalls became sharp claps as dirt gave way to cobblestones in the heart of town. The scent of roast beef, chicken, and stew floated thick from the tavern at the corner, mixed with the flicking strums of a mandolin. Her eyes opened at the change in the ground, a second before she collided with a man in armor. He caught her by the arms before she could crack her head into his armored chest, and took a knee to bring himself closer to eye level.

“Belephir protect you, child. What are you running from? Is something the matter?”

Emma tried to say something, but was out of breath. While she gasped, he craned his neck to peer over her shoulder. She lowered her hands, hanging onto the pouch by one finger hooked through the cord. Warmth rushed over her face with a blush.

“It’s nothing, Kavan. One of Nan’s stories got the best of me.” She glared back the way she came at a scrap of forest visible between buildings. “I’m too old for such silliness. I thought something was in the woods, watching me.”

Guard Kavan let go of her and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face before he stood up. “Aye right, lass. Way too old. What’re ya, ten now? Almost ready ta marry off. Definitely not a child.” He winked. “Be walkin’ with a cane in another week, ya will.”

She stuck her tongue out and sputtered. He ruffled her hair, chuckling, taking a step before he turned back. “You sure you didn’t see anythin’? We’ve ‘ad reports of bandits nearby. Keep away from the woods.”

“Yes. I’m fine. Just fetching herbs for Mum from Marsten.” Emma looked down, picking at her dress.

“What is it, Em?”

“Is Kimber missing?”

Guard Kavan coughed. “What makes you think something’s happened?”

“Umm…” The Banderwigh let Hannah go, and Kimber runs around alone all the time in the woods. The monster would… Emma’s face scrunched up. You sound like Nan. “She seemed ‘fraid of her Da.”

“Aye.” Kavan glanced down the street. “Right mess, that. I’ll go ‘ave a look.”

Guard Kavan stood up to his full seven-foot height, making her feel tiny. She curtsied to him and jogged deeper into the town center. On the next patch of street, she shuffled all the way to one side to avoid the tailor’s shop. Monsters she didn’t believe in, but there was no sense risking a jinx. A passing merchant in a blue silk doublet covered his coinpurse at her approach, until he saw her face.

“Good day, Emma.” He flashed an embarrassed smile. “My word, girl. I mistook you for a filch.”

“Allo, Mister Valis.” She smiled and curtsied at him, unaware of the meaning of his gesture.

“Your old man really ought to bring you to my daughter-in-law’s shop. That rag is unbecoming a young lady of your station.”

Emma’s face reddened and she looked down. But, Nan made it herself.

“Well, I suppose you’re little yet. No sense you ruining silk by running around in the weeds. Might as well enjoy it whilst you can.”

She forced a smile as the wealthy merchant tipped his hat at her and walked away. Like father, he was from Calebrin, but still lived there. Whenever he ran wagons, he’d ask Father on as a guard. For a few minutes, she stared down at her dress. Every little hole she could stick a finger through and every smudge of dirt that refused to wash out had a memory attached to it. Emma hugged herself, as if at any moment someone would attempt to force her to wear something nicer.

The town square bustled with activity: traveling merchants, a skald, a great fat man in a brown robe shouting to everyone in an effort to sell his ale. Emma watched him, smiling at the silly faces he made while waving a wooden stein at anyone who got close. She crept up to his table, peering over the lip of a wooden mug. The stuff inside smelled nasty and she wrinkled her nose. He seemed about to yell at her to get away, but relaxed at her disgusted face. Emma lost interest and ducked around a flower cart where she bumped into the side of another man selling sweet breads.

“Sorry, sir.” She took a step back.

“Oh, you poor dear!” He handed her one of the pastries. “Here. Take it.”

A little black cloud formed in her mind. “Thank you, sir. But…I’m not a beggar.”

“Don’t worry yourself, girl. It’s fine.” He took her arm, twisted her palm face-up, and set the roll in her hand. “I insist.”

The fragrance of sweet cinnamon and spice was too much to resist, and she took a bite. The flavor rid her of any sense of insult at his thinking her a street waif, and she flashed a smile of genuine thanks. The treat was half-gone by the time she reached the far end of the square and darted down a winding, narrow road. Clusters of old women paid her little mind as she weaved among the adults on her way to where the cobblestones faded back to dirt.

Beggar. She appraised the half-roll. I should give this to Kimber.

Marsten’s shop made her house feel small. Two stories tall, the great porch beckoned her toward a pair of double doors with square-paneled glass windows. She grasped the railing, leaving sticky handprints as she climbed. Creaky rocking chairs on either side moved in the breeze, stalling her as soon as she set foot on the last step. Emma again felt silly for thinking anything but the wind could be responsible.

The door on the right was wedged open, allowing her to walk into the choking stench of dozens of herbs and plants. Bins of Beauflower, Amethyst Moss, Azurevine, Faeberry, and Goldleaf lined the first row of shelves. Pungent Rotweed dangled out of a low-hanging bin; she could almost see the fumes wafting from it. She craned her neck, taking several steps on tiptoe to peer at the strange plants, wondering if Mother would ever teach her what the apothecary did with each one.

“Oi, careful, girl. Donnae get too close to that. Is Satyrsroot, will make ya sicker’n a mule in the rain.”

She shot Marsten a confused look, letting her weight back onto her heels. “How sick is a mule in the rain?”

He huffed. The sudden blast of air made his wispy, white moustache jump. “Just a figure of speech, girl. That stuf’ll make a woman sick. Probably kill a little’un for sniffin it.”

“You’re lying.” Emma walked up to the counter. “You want to scare me away from touching things. Mama makes tea with it for Da sometimes.”

Marsten turned bright red and coughed. She cringed from the awfulness of his dry, wheezing chuckle.

“Aye. Should’a figured you’d know an ‘erb or two. What’s yer mum need?”

“There’s a list.” She reached up and set the pouch on the eye-level counter. “In there. With money.”

Marsten upended the pouch, spilling copper coins and a few silver bits onto the wood with a clatter. Emma covered her nose with both hands in an effort to tolerate the overwhelming mixture of scents in the air. He plucked a strip of paper from the coins and pressed it flat, lifting his head to stare down his nose at the writing. She tapped her foot, waiting while he ticked through the money, glancing at the list every few coins.

“Aye. Be just a moment.”

She folded her arms and nibbled at the last half of the sweet roll. There was no tasting it in here, so powerful was the stink. A twinge of guilt made her stop; Kimber needed it more than she did. Marsten shuffled about behind the counter, gathering the supplies her mother had requested. Emma kicked at the floor, shifted her weight back and forth, and swiped her foot to draw arcs in the dust.

In the corner, where the counter met the wall to the left, a large wooden drawer held a number of mushrooms that caught her eye. Wide, flat tops ranging from eight to ten inches across sparkled in the weak light. Some were beige, others golden, and one bright orange with a white middle. Their stalks were almost a foot in length, causing them to droop over the front. Emma crept up to the bin. Wide-eyed, she reached to touch one with unsteady fingers, curious, but afraid of being yelled at.

When the tip of her finger was an inch from contact, Marsten let his weight fall on the counter above her with a heavy slam. Emma recoiled from the bin and pulled her arms to her chest, a gasp shy of screaming. He stooped over and leaned on his elbows. At the sight of the old man’s grin at startling her, she scowled.

“Pretty, aren’t they?”

“You could have asked me not to touch them. You didn’t need to be mean.”

“Oh, the look on your face.” Marsten laughed himself coughing. “Your Mum’s goin’ to be cross with me, but it was worth it. Did she teach you what those are?”

She shifted to look at them once more, making a series of faces. “Mushrooms?”

“Well, in general terms, yes. Do you know what they’re called?”

“Big mushrooms?” She poked one. Firm, dry, springy. “Flat-headed orangecap?”

“Creative, but not quite.” He stood up. “Those are Faerie’s Throne.”

“There’s no such thing as faeries.”

“They use ‘em as chairs out in the woods. Sleepin’ on ‘em, takin’ breaks from their endless days of playing. Sometimes they even”―he coughed―“uhh, dance on them.”

“I’m too old to believe in that silliness. It’s for little kids.”

“And old Nans.” He winked.

“They’re just stories.”

A clamor at the door announced the arrival of a man burdened with packs and bundles. She glanced at him in passing, paying him little mind as he trudged up to the counter, clattering and bumping bins. Something he carried stank worse than the herbs, causing her to lean into the shelf behind her. He struggled, shrugging weight off his back. The largest cloth bundle over his shoulder came undone from the sharp motion. Bright green spilled out from it, flying toward her. A spider with a body bigger than Emma and legs that spanned six feet to either side collapsed to the floor. The most ghastly smell of rot blew past her nose, making her long for the reek of herbs.

She screamed, and wedged herself against the wall as the beast landed, looking right at her. Eight milky white eyes, resembling wads of spun spidersilk, stared lifeless from a face six inches away from her foot. Emerald hairs covered the beast, matted with goop from an obviously fatal wound. Nightmares flashed through Emma’s mind, memories of a dozen horrible dreams caused by the sight of one of these creatures lashed to a wagon.

Her gaze shot left and right. Its legs had fallen around her like a spilled wagon of fire logs, trapping her in the corner. She couldn’t go either way without touching one to move it. Trembling, she clutched her arms to her chest, unable to stop staring at its eight dead eyes. Any second now, it would come back to life and eat her.

“Got a fair wad of silk,” said the man, ignoring her imminent death. He dug a shimmery pearl-white wad from his pouch, about the size of Tam’s head. “Nabbed a trophy as well, biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

Emma tried to force herself through the wooden wall to get away from it. She managed to break eye contact with it and stared, pleading, up at Marsten. He was busy plucking a strand of thread away from the wad. He held the fiber, as thick as twine, up to the light and studied it for a moment before setting it down. Emma whined and fidgeted, but neither man noticed. He flashed a broad smile and sifted through another pack the trader had dropped on the counter. The spider’s left foreleg slipped forward two inches, sending her up on tiptoe with a brief, high-pitched squeal.

The visitor shook his head at her. “Nothing to be ‘fraid of, child. It’s already dead.” He jostled its rear end with his boot, making the mouthparts wave at her.

Eyes closed, she tried to push the memories away. How many times had she woken in the middle of the night bawling? She remembered Mother’s sleepy reassurances that she was safe at home. Emma whispered to herself, the same words her mother had used.

“Shh, Em. It was just a dream. There are no spiders.”

“Is this all you could get?” grumbled Marsten. “I’m willin’ to offer forty kingscoin for this, but I have half the traders in Calebrin wantin’ more.”

A scrape made Emma’s eyes snap open, fearing it had returned to life. The creature had shifted, slumping further to the ground. Pale green ichor leaked out of its front end, threading toward her unprotected feet. Her chest felt tight. She couldn’t breathe. All she had to do was kick a spider leg out of the way, a spider leg as thick around as her own. She raised her foot, trying to step over it without touching. Rigid bristles scratched at her calf. Emma emitted a faint squeal and recoiled into the corner, shivering.

Neither man moved.

“The damnable things are getting more aggressive. They got Finlay.” The trader bowed his head. “I never even saw where he went. One minute he’s at my side with his bow ready, then I hear a shot and turn, and he’s just… gone.”

“So,” said Marsten, palms flat on the counter, “does this mean you’ll not be hunting for more?”

“I reckon it might be a while, but I’m willing to go back. Need to find some men to help first. I’ve no interest in attempting it with less than six blades behind me.”

“Hey.” Marsten tapped the counter twice. “Mind movin’ the critter. Can’t ya see it’s scarin’ the child?”

“It’s dead.”

“Would ya, look at ‘er?” Marsten gestured at Emma. “Me sis was the same way with spiders. She’d be climbin’ the walls to get away from a wee one. That thing would’a killed her from fright.”

The visitor hauled the corpse from the corner, bundling the legs and tying them with twine. As soon as the leg was out of her way, Emma darted along the wall and hid among the shelves. She held onto a box full of metallic blue Shimmerweed while trying to remember how to breathe. Conversation between the men murmured in the distance; she did not care to listen in. Panic faded, and she went limp on her feet, forehead to the wooden bin as she focused on long in and out breaths for a few minutes.

“Em?” yelled Marsten. “Are you alright, girl?”

She peered around the edge of the row, one eye, four fingers, and five toes visible to the man behind the counter. When she saw no trace of the trader, or anything resembling an enormous spider, she approached.

“I don’t like those things.”

“Aye. I’d not want to meet one alive either, and I’m too fat to be carted off by ‘em.”

Emma glared at him, aghast he would say such a thing. Now she was sure tonight would bring a nightmare of being wrapped in silk and carried away into the woods. If she wasn’t so terrified at the thought, she’d have been angry.

“Here’s your mum’s order.” He reached down, handing her a burlap bundle.

“Thank you, Mister Marsten.”

She retrieved the dust-covered half of a sweet roll from the corner where she had dropped it. No amount of puffing on it made it look appetizing anymore. Not even Kimber would want it now. Well, maybe Kimber would, but she couldn’t let the girl eat dust. When she got outside, she tossed it to some birds pecking at the road. Emma gave herself a once-over, wiping evidence of her terror off her cheeks and putting on her usual stoic face. She twisted left and right to check her dress, and almost fainted at the sight of a few emerald hairs stuck like quills in her right calf.

“Marsten!” she cried, limping through the door. “It got me!”

Despite feeling no real pain, she moved as if her entire leg had gone numb. Marsten lifted a section of hinged counter and shuffled over.

“What happened, Emma?”

She turned, showing off the back of her leg and whining.

He suppressed the urge to laugh and scooped her up by a hand in each armpit. After carrying her to the counter, he set her down and held her leg up by the ankle.

“Them critters have stiff hairs. When somethin’ scares em, they throw ‘em like daggers.”

Emma huffed and sniveled. “Are they poisoned?”

“No. Just sharp.” He grasped each one in turn and gingerly worked them loose. “And barbed.”

“Barbed?” Emma’s knuckles whitened on the counter.

“The way they’re shaped, they stick in easy, but tear on the way out. Too small to see.” He held up the removed bristle. “Rub your finger over the top.”

It took a minute of staring, but Emma gathered the courage to set one finger on it. Sliding left felt like a smooth knitting needle. Sliding right seemed more like a nail file. She pulled her hand back.

Marsten knelt, pushing her foot up higher and easing the last two hairs out one at a time. He rubbed her calf afterward, smiling, and let her leg down.

“There ya are. Only but a wee stab. They dinnae go in far enough to do much. Hardly grazed ya.”

“It hurts,” she whined.

The pudgy apothecary struggled upright off his knee, gasped for breath, and meandered to a nearby bin. He took a small green leaf, crushed it, and rubbed the fragments around her leg. The area went numb and tingly.

“There. Good as new.”

“Thank you.”

He helped her down and handed her back her mother’s order. “Go on now, Em. Your mum’ll be worried if you take too long.”

Emma waved and ran for the door.

mma guarded her bundle of dead plants as though all the bandits in Widowswood wanted to take it from her. Clinging to it made her think of Mother, and not of enormous spiders with fangs the size of daggers waiting in every gap between buildings. She smiled at the man who gave her the roll, and walked dutifully through the square on the most direct path home.

A few of the town watch greeted her; any close enough to touch her invariably patted her on the head. Every one of them asked what had scared her, and she told the story of the huge spider four times. Father was their superior, and she felt grateful they all looked after her. The Village of Widowswood was somewhere between a huge hamlet and a small town, and everyone knew the daughter of Guard Captain Dalen.

She frowned, unable to get rid of the worry something bad would happen to her leg for having spider-hairs stuck in it. Despite seeing nothing wrong, she could not put a feeling of discomfort out of her thoughts and paused every few steps to rub the spot.

A high-pitched shriek made her look up during one such pause. When the voice screamed again, she recognized it―Kimber.

Caution to the wind, Emma sprinted along an ever-narrowing street that went into the north part of town, where the poor congregated. An incoherent man reached for her from where he had fallen against a hovel, babbling in a drunken stupor about copper bits. She paid him no mind, running faster when she heard the scream again.

No one else seemed to notice the commotion occurring in the fenced-in dirt lot by a pathetic wooden shed. Kimber, hair wild and full of thistles, positioned herself on the far side of a horse trough. Arms held out to her sides, she trembled like a beaten dog, eyes locked on the wretched figure of a thin, wasted man who towered over her. The girl’s dress had ripped, exposing one shoulder and a new bruise.

A round bottle with a thin neck in the man’s left hand sloshed as he used that arm to point at her. “Fink you kin sic the guard on me? Ungrateful little brat!”

He lunged to the left around the trough; Kimber went the other way, evading a grab as she used the barrier to keep her distance.

“Pa, I dinnae! No’ me!”

Emma squeezed her bundle. Her fear of old man Drinn rooted her in place, while guilt at being responsible for Guard Kavan paying him a visit prodded her in the back. Kimber jumped right as her father faked left. He pounced and snatched a fistful of her hair. She wailed as he hauled her across the yard and sat on a stool by the shack’s door. Kimber screamed, pleading as he pulled her over his knee and tugged at her dress. She kicked and clamped onto her tattered garment, trying to delay the beating as much as she could.

“Ungrateful little whelp!” He yanked at the fabric. “Can’t find any decent apples, so you lie to the guards?”

“Stop!” Emma yelled. She ran up to the gate. The house was smaller than Nan’s bedroom. “Don’t hit her!”

Kimber’s father squinted at the new voice intruding on his world. His left eye did not seem capable of opening more than a narrow slit, while his right looked ready to fall out of his head. He was as starved-looking as his daughter, and almost as pale. Kimber lapsed into sobs as he ceased trying to pull her dress up.

Old Man Drinn stared, awestruck, at Emma. “Who d’you think you are talkin’ ta me like that?”

“I sent the guard. It wasn’t Kimber’s fault. Let her go!”

“Is that right?” He stood, carrying the weeping redhead over to the trough.

The way he held her, head down, made Emma afraid he was going to dunk Kimber under and drown her. Emma dropped the herbs and shoved through the gate.

“Been a month since your last bath, child.” He dangled her over the water, shaking her. “Best do a right lot of sellin’ today, mebbe I’ll forget it’s time to―”

Emma swiped a rotten apple off the ground and hurled it. The foul missile splattered over the back of the old man’s head. He yelled in surprise, losing his grip on the flailing girl. Kimber fell face-first into the filthy water. She surfaced seconds later and sloshed to the far side, shivering. Emma stood defiant, another apple in her hand ready to throw.

“If you don’t stop hitting her, I’ll send the watch again. You’ve no right to be so mean. Kimber’s only a child. You should be the one earning money.”

He wiped a hand over the back of his head, studying the ill-smelling brown smear. From the look on his face, it seemed he wasn’t sure if he had spoiled fruit or brains on his fingers. He licked it and spat, setting his bottle on the stool. Shaking, he pointed a thick, yellowing fingernail at her.

“Too mean, huh?” Old Man Drinn stalked at Emma, reaching. “I’ll show ya mean.”

“Papa, donnae do it!” screamed Kimber.

He rounded on her with a glare that made her cry and duck half underwater. Emma hit him between the shoulders with another rotten apple.

“Leave her alone!”

Drinn went still for a few seconds, turning about with a growing sneer. His one wider eye narrowed to match the other side, his upper lip twitching. The glare he levelled at Emma made her freeze in place.

Seconds passed, the stillness broken only by the lapping of water in the horse trough and Kimber’s sniveling.

Emma drew a breath to speak, but before she could think of what to say, Old Man Drinn let off a roar like an animal and ran at her. She ducked under a punch and darted around him. He got a hand on her long hair, yanking her over backwards onto the ground. She grabbed at the back of her head with both arms, screaming as he dragged her close and grabbed a fistful of her dress with his left hand. He leaned down hard, crushing her into the ground and forcing a wheeze out of her.

“Papa! No!” Kimber clutched the edge of the trough, casting hopeful glances at the street, seeming terrified of what would happen to her if she screamed for the guards.

“Little brat!” He slapped Emma back and forth across the face and drew his hand high, this time making a fist. Breath laced with the sweet stink of faeberry brandy made her eyes water more than the pain in her cheek.

Despite trembling, Emma stared at him. Sweat dripped from his nose. Distant water sloshed as Kimber climbed out of the trough and ran to grab her father’s poised arm. She got an elbow in the face for her effort, which knocked her on her rump, crying.

Emma squirmed, grabbing his wrist and trying to shove it off her shoulder. Old Man Drinn looked down at her, and the bones in his hand creaked. He took a sharp breath; ready to whomp her in the face.

Bwawk!

A raven landed at the corner of the hovel’s roof, fluffing its feathers. It cocked its head, staring at Drinn. The bird leaned forward, wings wide, threatening, emitting a noise like shale scraping on stone.

He hesitated. Drunken rage faded to worry. When he looked back at her, his cheeks had become ashen.

“You… You’re Emma.” He lowered his arm and took his weight off her.

She scooted back along the dirt and gathered her legs under her. “Yes. You know who my Da is,” Emma whispered. “Guard Captain Dalen.”

He looked like a man who’d just killed himself. “Aye.”

Old Man Drinn stumbled back to his stool, stooping to retrieve his bottle along the way. He sat and took a long swig. Emma fixed her dress and walked closer, hands balled into fists. The raven settled its feathers. Kimber sniffled, making no move to get up from where she had sprawled.

“I’ll make you a deal.” She pointed at Kimber. “You stop being mean to Kimber, and I won’t tell my father you hit me.”

He sputtered his booze. The raven tucked its beak under a wing.

“If you hit her one more time, I’ll tell.” She went over to help the younger girl up. The start of a black eye was evident. Emma touched the spot gingerly. “I’m sorry. I asked Kavan to check on you. He visited because of me. I thought you got grabbed by bandits in the woods.”

“Bandits? Bah,” grumbled the old man. “She’d be e’ery bit o’ useless ta them as she is here.”

Emma shot a disgusted glare at him before her expression softened toward Kimber and she whispered, “Tell me if he hits you again.”

Kimber’s green eyes stared off into nowhere. She trembled, afraid to look at her father or say a word. Emma wanted to cry. The same motherly feelings she had towards Tam reared up as she gathered the other girl in a hug. A whispering breeze from the woods made her look. The raven shifted into the wind, squawking at the trees. Kimber’s hand on Emma’s cheek startled her with how much the light contact hurt.

“‘E hit ya, too.”

“Kimber, don’t go in the woods today.”

This is rubbish. Why am I saying that? It’ll just scare her more.

“Nonsense! She needs to sell apples or we’ll starve.”

Emma glared at the bottle. “You don’t buy food with it, anyway.”

He wobbled to his feet, and staggered at her with a menacing fist. Emma thrust her chin out.

“One more step, and I’ll scream for the guards.” She squinted. “You’re an awful man. I’ll not let you hurt her anymore.”

Kimber jumped between them, arms wrapped around her father. “Papa, no. I love ya. I’s ‘kay. I’s sorrys if’n I’s been bad. I’ll go pickin’.”

The girl pushed him back until he tripped and fell, seated, on the stool. She picked up the bottle and handed it to him. Emma shook her head, and collected the bundle of herbs from where she had dropped it.

Kimber found her basket and went for the gate. “Wha’s wrong wif ‘a woods?”

Emma ducked out of the yard, waiting for Kimber to follow and close the fence. “Bad feeling; it’s just a silly story from Nan.”

Kimber wore an unreadable expression for a moment, and set off in the direction of the apple trees. Emma did not like the way the woods felt, but she couldn’t believe there was a monster out there. Just a silly story. Bandits wouldn’t bother with a girl like Kimber; she did not look like her family had any money.

Old Man Drinn stared at Emma. Something in his eyes sent a chill through her. He swigged from his drink again, the slosh and pthunk of his lips breaking the seal at the narrow neck seemed far louder than it ought to have. He smiled at her and raised the bottle in toast.

A man like that might not feel any guilt about making a girl like her disappear to save his life.

other whirled at the sound of the door slamming. Emma leaned against it, eyes closed and out of breath from running most of the way through the village on her way home. As if Old Man Drinn had not been scary enough, she could not help but feel something watched her the whole way.

“Em!” Mother ran over. “Did you get into a fight with that Cooper boy again?”

Emma winced at the finger poking her cheek. “No, Mama.”

“His mother promised me he wouldn’t tease you anymore.”

“It wasn’t Rydh, Mama.” She cringed away from the examination. “I bloodied his nose. He doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Mother pointed at a chair and took the herb bundle. Emma hung her head and trudged to the indicated seat, swinging her legs back and forth for a short while as Mother puttered around by the cabinets. Emma looked up when Mother’s dress appeared in front of her. A gentle hand settled atop her head, twisting her sideways to get a clear look at the bruise. Emma grabbed the seat of the chair, emitting a long squealing whine as a freezing cold, slimy cloth pressed over the hurt. The scent of earthy moss made her cough.

“What happened?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell Da.”

Mother pressed into the soaked burlap, ensuring it sat evenly over her face. “You promised not to tell Da. You can tell your mother.”

Emma stared at the ceiling, face growing numb. Mother did have a point, she had only promised Drinn not to tell her father. “Old Man Drinn hit me.”

The look on Mother’s face darkened, scaring her; she had never seen such anger in those eyes. “That bastard.”

Emma grasped Mother’s wrist with both hands. “He was hittin’ on Kimber. I told him to stop.” She explained everything. “I told him I’d not tell if he’d stop hitting her.”

Mother cradled Emma to her chest, stroking her hair. “Men like that don’t listen to what women say, and they certainly don’t like threats from little ones.” Emma sniffled as Mother kissed her head. “I’m proud of you, Em―however, you made a promise you shouldn’t keep. He’s going to be angry with Kimber for what you did.”

“She didn’t― That’s stupid! But―”

“Don’t worry. Your father won’t be involved.” Emma looked up, confused. “Your promise won’t be broken. Now, go fetch your brother. It’s almost time to eat.”

Mother released her hug and peeled the now-dry cloth from her cheek. Emma thought it odd that the slimy paste had dried to crumbles so fast, but paid it little mind as she scampered off the chair for the back door. She caught herself on the doorjamb by the rear alcove, and snuck a glimpse over her shoulder. Mother stomped right for her special cabinet, intent on something and muttering. Any trace of kindness had fled from the woman’s face. Most of the words loud enough for Emma to hear made her blush.

Emma slipped through the door, enjoying the cool evening breeze on her face and the fragrance of hyacinth. Her cheek no longer hurt, even when she touched it. She crept up to the well, squatting by a puddle to use it as a mirror―no bruise. The oddity of that added to the eerie feeling emanating from the distant forest. Something was still there, watching her out of the dark. Fear made her stand straight.

“Tam?” she whispered.

Fireflies zoomed about the meadow grass between the house and the woods. There was no sign of her little brother.

“Tam?” she said, almost at normal speaking volume.

Worry for her younger sibling pushed aside her irrational fear of Nan’s faerie monsters, and she ran into the field, looking left and right.

“Tam!” she yelled with building desperation. “Tam? Where are you?”

Grass whipped at her legs as she sprinted in the direction of a weak cry. It sounded like Tam yelling for help. Had she been wrong? Was Nan’s creature real? Had it released Hannah only to take him?

No! It wasn’t after Kimber. Tam’s even littler.

“Tam!” her voice was a barely recognizable screech by the time she reached the tree line. “Tam?” You’re being silly. There are no monsters.He’s just lost.

She kept sight of home over one shoulder as she stepped with caution through the underbrush. The oppressive dread seeping from the woods around her made it impossible to run in a blind panic.

“Emma!”

Tam’s voice seemed to come from everywhere. When he cried out again, she moved as fast as the knee-deep brush would allow.

Hands cupped to her mouth, she yelled. “Where are you?”

She found a narrow trail and jogged along it for a moment. The sound of Tam’s voice grew quiet again, and she slowed, walking through a gradual spin. A twig snap made her whirl, half-expecting to see Kimber’s father coming after her with a sword. That had to be it. Old Man Drin had kidnapped Tam to lure her deep into the woods where he could kill her.

“Tam!” she shrieked, shaking from worry.

A group of five wolves emerged from the darkness, pale yellow eyes unblinking. She went stiff, too frightened to tremble. The lead wolf sniffed at the air; he was large enough for her to ride like a horse, with fur that shimmered from pale grey to charcoal as it moved. To his right and a little behind, a jet-black wolf almost as large locked eyes with her. The other three grey-furred wolves sniffed at the air.

The sight of the predators made Tam’s silence terrifying. Had the wolves gotten him?

Home was too far away to see. Every direction looked the same. If she ran the wrong way, they would catch her. Even if she went straight home, they still would overrun her. She backed up, gasping when she stepped in a cold patch of water. The lead wolf kept her pace. Two others circled to the right, emitting a keening cry only loud enough for the sound to reach her.

Emma kept her hands low, trying to act non-threatening as she crept backwards. She bumped into a tree, stumbled around it, and lost her balance after scraping her foot on a sharp, unseen rock. Her rearward crab-walk was not fast enough to keep the big wolf away. It stalked after her as she scurried against another tree. The other four swept around in a circle, stopping less than an arm’s length from her. The black wolf came up alongside him, and the pair seemed to stare right through her.

Hot breath washed over her neck and chest; a cold nose touched her throat. She clenched handfuls of dirt as she braced for the end of her life. The wolf snorted and turned away. Emma sat stiff as a headstone against the tree, paralyzed with terror and confusion as the wolves receded.

After a minute of silence, she risked moving enough to look around.

She curled up, knees to face, and let herself shiver away the energy her body summoned in response to fear. Darkness shifted to the right―something seemed to lurk there, watching. Careful not to make a sound, she stood. The largest of the wolves emerged from a shadow twenty paces away, still staring at her. Emma leaned back, eyes wide.

It’s playing with me. Does it want me to run so it can chase?

It sent a pointed glance in another direction and backed out of sight.

Nothing but trees waited where it had looked. She swallowed, crossing her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to stop shaking. When she did not move, the large wolf leaned into view again, baying at her and snorting in the same direction. Emma stopped trembling, confused by the odd way the animal behaved. She looked again, seeing nothing but trees and shadow. When she turned back, the wolf was gone. It was too strange to ignore. Emma went in the direction the animal seemed to be telling her to go. Expecting the pack to be on her heels, she ran hard. Trees flashed by. She held her arms up to shield her face from low-hanging branches, and called out for her brother again.

Not far from where a huge wolf had almost devoured her, she collided with her little brother, who was sprinting towards her at full speed. They slapped together, chest to chest, her greater size knocking him flat as they went rolling on the ground. Right away, he burst into red-faced wailing.

Emma sat up, shook off her dizziness, and crawled to him. He looked as though he’d gone for a frolic in a thistleberry bush. She picked half-inch prickly spheres out of his tunic and hair, wincing whenever the needles bloodied her fingertips. As soon as he was free of thistles, she clamped him in a hug, patting his back and rubbing until he stopped crying.

“Tam, you know better than to go into the woods alone.”

He sniffled. “You scared too? Fraid of da Bandy-wee?”

“Of course not.” She grumbled. “Come on, get up. We’re late for dinner.”

She took him by the hand and pulled him along. The narrow trail led to the forest edge, and the welcome sight of home on the other side of a meadow full of fireflies. Mother’s silhouette filled the back door. Coldness fell over Emma from behind. This time, even Tam shivered and held on. Emma glanced over her shoulder at the pitch-black woods. Branches waved in the breeze amid the rustles and snaps of what she hoped were animals. She backed up, finding herself scared to turn away from the trees.

“Emma, Tam!” shouted Mother from far away. “Where’ve you been? Come in this instant.”

She trusted her mother, broke her stare with the trees, and ran for the house, almost dragging Tam off his feet. Hair flying, dress whipping, she tried to outrun the feeling that something chased her.

ith her parents added to the bed, Emma had little room to move. She lay on her side, pressed into the wall below the windowsill with Tam at her back. His breaths washed warm over her neck. Mother’s arm covered them both. Blue moonlight filtered in through the window, creating a patch on the wall that lit the room enough to see every lurking shadow. Sleep had come in short stints, though she had not yet dreamed of giant spiders. Tree-shadows clawed at the glass, occasionally startling her. Tam had not noticed how frightened she was while they ran home. Was that Old Man Drinn hiding in the woods, waiting to get her back? Was it an Emerald Creeper?

It certainly couldn’t be a Banderwigh.

Father had talked on and off for months about building on to the side of the house, adding a new room for them. The idea of having her own room, like Nan, had made her feel grown up and important. Tonight, she was happy he’d forgotten about it. A shadow moved, as though a man passed by the window. Emma shot upright, gripping the cold wood by the wavy glass. There was no one there. Tam whimpered in his sleep as she settled back down. Minutes passed in silent stillness. Nan’s tale of the creature filled her head with worry.

She grumped, arms folded, chiding herself for letting such a foolish story get under her skin. No matter how angry she tried to make herself, the feeling of a dark presence watching her remained. It was as though something was in the room behind her, staring. Was that why she awoke in the middle of the night? She squeezed her mother’s arm, unconsciously trembling. Mother muttered in her sleep, pulling her children tight to her. Emma felt silly all over again for believing in such tales, and closed her eyes.

Again, she found herself awake, but it was still dark. She sighed, stretching her legs and trying to get comfortable. Tam prodded her in the back. Now, she realized why she’d woken up. The little one poked her in the ribs again. She ignored him. After another few pokes, a wet finger found her right ear.

“Tam,” she hissed over her shoulder, wiping her ear. “Go to sleep.”

He shifted closer, his breath on her cheek. “I haveta pee, an I’m not s’posed to go outside alone. Papa’s too sleeped.”

“Use the chamber pot,” mumbled Emma.

“You dropped it, member.” Tam simulated a disgusting splatter noise. “Down’a privy.”

She’d been too eager to help Mother, offering to take the awful thing out back and dump it before she realized how bad it really smelled. In her haste to be rid of the mess, she’d lost her grip. Father had yet to buy another one.

Emma squirmed around to lie on her back, wedging herself tighter between her brother and the wall. She eased Mother’s arm away and sat up, wiping crumbs from her eyes. Father’s usual snoring had quieted, and her mother’s pleasant smile hinted at a wonderful dream. Tam stood up on the bed and walked to the end, climbing over the storage trunk to the floor. He went to the back door and waited there in his skivvies, unable to stand still. After another breath, she crawled to the edge of the bed with care, so as not to disturb her sleeping parents. The icy floor made her shiver and wonder at how her brother could stand there with nary more than a strip of cloth around him. Her nightgown was longer than her favorite dress, going down to her shins. Devoid of holes, the thick, white cotton was also warmer.

She climbed up on a stool to reach a lantern, setting it on the table before lighting it. After closing the little glass door, she gathered her brother’s tunic and borrowed Nan’s shawl, which she wrapped around herself. Tam raised his arms as she pulled the garment over him and tugged it into place. He bounced with urgency. Emma opened the back door, held his hand, and raised the lantern over her head.

A path of irregular stones led in a twisty curve to the privy shack. The old, dark forest gleamed with patches of white-azure in the unearthly light of a full moon. Less than a hundred yards past the outhouse, the edge of Widowswood flickered with strange spots of glow. Nan called them Faerie Lights. Emma figured they were bugs, like fireflies, only bigger and afraid of people. She hesitated, watching them drift back and forth with motion quite unlike insects. After Nan’s story, and with the strange mood in the air, she was not so sure.

Tam tilted his head up to look at her when her grip on his hand tightened. Thick brown hair circled his face. He gave her an inquiring stare, then bounced a few times and grabbed himself. Emma brushed aside her fear and extended one tentative foot toward the path.

“Gah,” she whispered, as she found out just how cold the stones were at night. “So much for the start of summer.”

She pulled him along by the arm in an ungainly run intended to minimize how long her feet had to touch the freezing rocks. A few seconds later, they halted by the small outhouse. Emma let go of his hand to open the rickety door. Tam leapt through and tugged at the handle. He put a hand on her chest when she went to follow him in. She cast an uneasy glance at the woods. The pure white nightdress glowed in the moonlight, a beacon that left her feeling vulnerable.

“Pi-vate,” he said, pulling the door shut and locking it in her face.

Never mind that three or so hours ago, they had shared a bathtub. Emma squinted, not wanting to show fear of being out alone at night. Nan’s story had gotten to her. She held the lantern up, free arm across her chest in a vain attempt to stifle the shivering. The old one was only trying to scare her. There was no such thing as child-stealing monsters that came out of the woods at night. Still, she would have rather been inside a space with a locked door.

“Hurry up,” she whispered.

“It’s cold. Can’t start.”

“I know it’s cold. That’s why I’m telling you to hurry up. I thought you had to go bad.”

“I does.”

“The wind is blowing right through my dress. Let me in.”

“No. Pi-vate.” The privy shifted as he moved inside. “You scared of a Bandy-wee?”

“Am not.” She scrunched her toes in the grass. It had gotten quiet. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He giggled.

A twig snapped.

Emma gasped, raising the lantern. She peered around the side of the little shed, finding nothing.

“Please, I won’t watch. I’ll keep my eyes closed.”

Silence. She imagined him blushing.

She realized the night sounds had ceased. No crickets chirped, no birds tweeted, and no distant animals moved about―not even the low moan of the wind.

Snap.

She whirled to her left, light held high. A shadow slid over the ground as though someone crept behind the privy. Emma slapped her free hand on the door. “Tam, I’m not joking. Open the door, now.”

“Peeing.”

Emma cringed. Okay, maybe that was a cloud drifting by the moon. She stared at the patch of grass, finding no sign of anything moving.

Crunch.

Her breaths came in short rasps as she flattened herself against the door. Too terrified to risk a peek around the side again, she shivered. She wanted to scream for her parents, but all that came out of her was a soft whimper. Her left hand found its way to the handle, rattling the locked knob. She looked down past the glowing lantern in her other hand, over pale moonlit legs. The grass wavered in the breeze; the stone footpath waited three paces away. She considered running for Father, but she couldn’t leave Tam out here alone. Distant wind surged to life, hissing among the trees and chilling her through the thin garment.

Snap. Closer that time.

She didn’t look. Just a chicken, maybe Hadrath’s pig got loose again. She turned to face the outhouse, straining up to speak through the crescent moon hole.

Her voice wavered, close to tears. “Please, Tam, let me in. I’m really scared.”

The shadow of an enormous blade stretched over the glinting wood. The icy hand of fear gripped the back of her neck. Darkness fell upon her, as something muted the light of the moon. Emma jumped, staring up into pale, glowing yellow eyes. A man-shaped shadow loomed past the corner of the privy, a long-handled axe balanced over one shoulder.

The lantern flew.

She screamed.

izziness swam through Emma’s mind. An overwhelming sense of vertigo mixed with the fragrance of pine and a hint of floating. Her right foot dangled in the path of a gentle breeze. The surface beneath her was hard and cold. She pulled her right arm up, bracing her palm against smooth metal and propping herself seated. Squinting revealed a dim space split into slivers by bands of black. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the bands sharpened from blur to bars. Emma spun in a panicked flurry.

She was in a hanging cage.

Her first attempt to stand sent her falling on her backside as her little prison moved. She went still, staring past her knees at the mortared stone walls of a cottage as they swayed back and forth. The bars were irregular metal shards; nothing any man crafted with forge and hammer. Here and there, ‘thorns’ protruded, as though some demonic sculptor had attempted to make roses out of black iron. Above her, the bars bent together in a dome shape, passed through a ring, and flared out to angry points. Thick chains covered in rust and dirt connected the ring to the ceiling. The angular bars were too thick to get her hands around, but she got enough of a grip to pull herself upright. She could stand in the cage, though her head touched the top.

In time, the sway came to a halt. Her hands migrated from bar to bar as she spun to look around the room. The space appeared to be a small one-room cabin, with walls of mortared, stacked stones. The only window sat high on the wall, within an inch of the roof. It was too small for even a child to squeeze through. Overgrown with shrubbery, it offered a narrow view of trees and blue sky, and gave her the impression the room was more underground than not. Roots poked through the mortar in places, some with tiny black insects crawling over them. The space had no doors, and the only furnishings were a single chair fifteen feet away against the opposite wall, and a plain wooden table with a small, grey brick at the center. Emma gasped at the sight; her father had used a similar thing to sharpen his axe. Something soft came between her foot and the cage floor. Emma raised her foot, glancing down at a crude burlap doll missing one of its button eyes. She brushed it to the side and continued looking around.

Seven similar cages of varying sizes lined one wall, three to her left and four to her right. All but two were empty. The one next to her on the left held a girl a year or so older than Emma. She was grimy as a beggar and probably blonde. Silent until the moment Emma looked at her, she began muttering what sounded like an old nursery rhyme in a whispery rasp while clutching a petrified, half-eaten muffin she picked at and spun in her hands. Her primitive burlap dress had burn holes in places where patches of red and blistered skin peeked through. Smudges of char marked her cheek, arms, and legs.

Emma’s heart thudded in her chest as she watched blood trickling down a dangling leg with cracked, red skin. Droplets gathered on the older girl’s big toe, falling to the floor with a sound as loud as blocks of wood striking stone. She shied away from the sight, whispering to herself.

“I’m having a nightmare.”

The sing-song chant got louder; Emma raised her head, staring through her disheveled hair at the strange figure. Her voice flowed upon the melody of an old rhyme Mother had used to lull her to sleep years ago, but the words were quite different.

“Wrinkle, crinkle, burning bright.

Flame disport, a dancing light.”

The girl’s eyes widened as if gazing at something far away; she twitched and cracked an innocent smile. Smoke seeped from her lips as she spoke, filling the air with the scent of burned wood.

“Hither, thither, rush and churn.

around them all, reave and burn.”

Emma held on to the bars, afraid to breathe for the sound it might make. The other girl rocked, cradling her pitiful morsel of bread as if it were a doll.

“Ashes, ashes, o’er my bed

Ashes, ashes, many dead”

Her voice fell to a whisper. Emma covered her mouth to hold in a gasp.

“Broken lantern, fallow dry

No one wakes, no warning cry”

Her somber rhyme became a fevered shout.

“Runs and hides, the girl her shame.

For now I know who to blame!”

The unexpected yelling startled Emma away from the bars. She fell against the opposite side, sending the cage swaying back and forth. The other girl got quiet again, rocking and mumbling the same melody into the pittance of food she held close to her lips. Emma curled against the frigid metal, knees to her chin, trembling at the sight of the girl who’d gone nutters.

Her brother whined in his sleep. Tam lay curled up two cages right, leaving one empty between them. He had not yet awakened. Emma cried at the sight of him, and knelt to reach down through the bars toward him. She could barely get her fingertips to the next cage over, falling far short of his. She shifted, searching around the bottom of her cage for any sort of latch or keyhole, but found nothing. The plate she knelt on was a simple, blackened metal disc, wedged in the curve of jagged bars that had no seams, no hinges, and no way to open.

She sat, knees tight to her chest, trembling. This cage was impossible. She could not fit between the bars, and it had no door. Emma felt like a ship in a bottle. Ralf, the innkeeper, had one of them on the bar. That had mystified her with its impossibility at first, until Father explained how they build them inside, piece by piece through the neck. The cage had to be similar, a trick. Fingers traced one of the flanges as high as she could reach without standing. This is a dream. Monsters aren’t real. Emma chanted wake up… wake up… in her mind for a few seconds. She pinched herself, and opened her eyes.

Still in the cage.

The older girl broke into fits of giggling, spraying crumbs out of her teeth.

Overcome, Emma pitched her head forward and sobbed on her knees. Tears ran down her legs as she called out for Father, Mother, and Nan. Her pleas echoed in the underground room, answered only by the wheezing snickers of the girl to her left. When she had cried herself out of tears, she lifted her head, sniffling and wiping her face. The older girl stared at her, anger glinting in hazel eyes. She twisted about in a rapid lunge against the bars, startling a yelp out of Emma. The left half of the other girl’s face was blistered and oozing, with much of her hair on that side missing.

Emma swallowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The blonde girl’s lips quivered with an inaudible growl. Emma pressed herself into the cage wall, as far away from the malice radiating from her neighbor as she could get. The hateful stare remained unblinking―if cages did not separate them, she believed the girl would hurt her. A scalded left arm slid through the bars, reaching into Emma’s cage. She stared, paralyzed, until warm, slimy fingers groped at the top of her foot, leaving smears of bloody slime. Emma squealed and yanked her leg away, huddling in a ball.

A red hand thrust forward, pointing at Emma’s face.

“Runs and hides, the girl her shame. For now I know who to blame! You killed them! You killed everyone!”

Emma whimpered.

“You killed them,” the girl hissed.

Fear turned to confusion. “Killed who?” Confusion became anger. “I haven’t hurt anyone. We’ve been kidnapped! My Da is the Captain of the watch. He’ll find us.”

The blonde grinned, pressing her head to the bars. “Your father’s dead.”

“No!” wailed Emma.

“Your mother’s dead.”

“No!” shouted Emma.

“You been sleepin’ for days.” The older girl grunted, and snarled, trying to reach farther into Emma’s cage, slapping bloody handprints on the bottom. Clear liquid oozed from blisters on her skin as it scraped over metal. “You threw the lantern. The village burned. Everyone died.” Her eyes lost focus. “Ashes, ashes, o’er my bed.”

“That’s not true!” screamed Emma, cowering away.

“Your Nan, your Father, your sad little friend with the red hair too. Dead.” A croaking giggle hissed through grimy hands. “No one wakes, no warning cry.”

“No, no, no!” Emma sniveled.

“Your parents didn’t know you were outside. They went back into your house looking for you while it burned. They died because of you. Your Nan too. She was too old to get out of bed before the fire took her!”

The older girl ceased her attempts to grab Emma, pulling her arm back and clinging to the bars with an unsettling, emotionless expression. She shifted, revealing more of the burned-bald side of her head.

“I watched my Mum and Pa die. Pa pushed me out the window, but the roof fell on him before he could get out, and covered me with fire.” The girl gripped the bars as though she wanted to tear through them. “Look at what you did to me! I used to be pretty!”

“No! I don’t believe you,” screamed Emma, covering her eyes.

She shivered in silence for a moment before the memory came back. A dark figure loomed around the outhouse, she shrieked, and threw the lantern into the air. Emma couldn’t remember anything after that. Still cringing against the unforgiving metal, she curled up and bawled. Sorrow rippled through her body with each breath as her mind tormented her with images and sounds of what must have happened. She knew Nan’s time was short, but the actual moment of loss was still more than she could bear. On top of that, Mother and Father too?

“It’s gonna keep us like that other girl. She’s dead inside.” The blonde hissed, trying once more to reach through to grab Emma. “I’m gonna remember. When he lets us out of our cages, I’m going to kill you.”

Emma slumped down, curled sideways on the bottom, trying to stay as far away from the sinister girl as she could. Breaths stole in through gaps in great sobs; her cheek rested in a puddle of tears. The eerie melody of the bad rhyme echoed off the walls, too faint to make out words, but enough to mock the memory of her mother singing it. After some minutes, she caught sight of the older girl through blurry eyes. The burned waif had shifted to her knees close against the bars, staring wide-eyed with a diabolical grin, adoring Emma’s agony.

Tiredness gripped Emma as her crying waned. Energy seemed to leech out of her like a physical presence, drawn towards the bloody figure in the other cage. She considered Nan’s story again. She couldn’t believe it might be true. She closed her eyes, trying to picture the silhouette of the shaggy man at the edge of the privy. Hand against the metal plate, she pushed herself upright, sitting and sniffling. The other girl twitched, white flakes peeling from her blistered cheek. She pointed, shaking an accusing finger.

“Gonna kill you, someday.”

Emma grabbed at the thorny bars, pulling herself upright. Warm tears splattered between her toes as she forced herself to look at the awful girl and stop thinking about her family being dead.

“He doesn’t feed us much, but you can sometimes grab a bug on the wall and eat that.”

Emma shied away from a demonstration. She looked back too fast, catching sight of a small black leg sliding into the girl’s mouth. Emma gagged, covering her mouth to keep from throwing up.

“You’ll be hungry enough to eat them soon.” The girl giggled for a few seconds, falling cold and serious in an instant. “Not so nasty when it’s do it or die.”

Scratching behind her drew Emma’s attention to dozens of roaches, beetles, and centipedes on the wall behind her cage that had, seconds ago, been clear. Their sudden appearance made her jump, but she did not scream.

The older girl snarled.

“Did you expect me to be frightened?” Emma scrunched up her nose. “They’re just bugs.”

“They’re the only food you’ll have sometimes.” The older girl ran a finger through what remained of pretty, blonde locks, pulling a clump loose. She held her arm out to the side, fluttering her fingers until the hair fell.

“It won’t kill us,” said Emma in a calm whisper, ignoring the discarded piece of skin. “It wants us sad, not dead.”

The girl stuck out her tongue with a petulant noise. “I want you dead.”

Emma could not recall ever having seen her before. She studied the other child’s face, trying to imagine her without the burns. As best she could remember, there were eight or nine girls around that age in town. Only two were blonde, one of whom was chubby. The wretched person in the next cage couldn’t be Julianna, the blacksmith’s daughter―she was far too sweet to ever say such nasty things.

Emma thought and thought, staring at the bloody finger marks on the bottom of her cage. She huddled against the sharp metal, careful not to let even one toe get close enough to where the other girl could reach her. The burned girl went back to her bread, licking and turning it like a squirrel with a prized acorn, while humming her rhyme.

Minutes passed until an idea formed. Emma squinted; her legs went still.

“I’m sorry I killed your parents, Mary.”

“Hah!” shouted the blonde. “Saying sorry won’t bring them back!”

As sad as she had been, she became furious.

“You’re lying!” Emma leapt to her feet, flinging herself into the bars with enough force to send her cage swaying. “My family isn’t dead! There’s no one named Mary in town. You’re not Julianna! You just wanna make me cry.”

“Dead, dead, dead like rats. Dead like rats in the river,” sang not-Julianna, switching to an unmelodic screech that forced smoke out of her mouth. “Burned to a crisp!”

Emma lunged at the older girl, pointing. Her body hit the bars hard enough to send her cage swinging back and forth, spinning. Each time she spun past, Emma raked in an effort to scratch her tormentor. When the swinging slowed, she pointed at the burned child’s face. “I don’t believe you!”

“Dead like rats!” Cackling, the older girl clapped and rocked, but made no effort to touch her. “They all died screaming, crying out for you. ‘Oh, dear little Emma! Where are you?’”

A tug of sadness gnawed at her heart, but watching this awful girl so happy about her misfortune enraged her. “Liar! Liar! Y-you’re trying to make me sad so it eats my tears instead of yours!”

Emma stood, pointing, breathing hard. Eventually, the wretched sight of the scorched girl made her feel pity. She lowered her arm to her side and gazed downcast.

“I dunno what village you’re from, but I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Not-Julianna’s expression of dire mirth fell to a flat line, followed by a sneer. The burned girl leaned back and closed her eyes. With a rattling hiss, her skin dried like paper before she burst into a waterfall of maggots. Emma screamed. A swarm of tiny, white worms writhed in a collapsing mass that melted away to a vaporous fog. Thick and clinging, the smoke pooled at the bottom of the cage, slipping through the bars in a gradual pour. Emma fell seated, heels sliding on the bare metal as she scrambled to back away as far as she could. She covered her nose and mouth with her elbow, trying to block the overpowering stink of burning meat. The vile fog cascaded to the floor, billowing out into a cloud that blanketed the hay scattered about the dirt. For a few seconds, she felt grateful the cage hung off the ground.

Lies, all lies. They’re not dead. It just wants me to be sad.

Heavy chain links overhead squeaked as her prison shifted back and forth. Emma glanced at where the burned girl had been; not even a single maggot remained. She got up, grabbed the bars, and shook her cage, bouncing and twisting in an effort to break it. When that failed, she climbed to the top again in search of anything she could move or that seemed loose enough to wiggle. One of the metal thorns bit her, and she cried out. She stuck her cut finger in her mouth and glared. Never had she felt so trapped.

“Daddy!” Her shout echoed into silence.

She spun in place, searching the room for anything of promise, studying every place where roots had cracked the mortar between the stones. No doors, one tiny window, no way in or out. It was impossible for her to be in this room. It was impossible for her to be in a cage with no way to open. She let her arms fall slack to her sides, standing in the center with her gaze focused on her little brother. Creaking metal grew quieter and quieter as the swinging came to a stop. The only possible explanation for any of this was that Nan’s stories were true.

There really were faeries and monsters.

mma wiped the last of the tears from her face, exhausted from her sadness. She squinted, trying to recall what Nan had told her. The thing had fed from her. The sight of Hannah, so pale and wasted, sent a chill down her spine. This creature would not kill them, but to do so might well be a kindness compared to what awaited her, and Tam. She remembered Hannah stumbling out of the forest, clad in nothing but leaves. In her mind, the face changed. Hannah became Emma’s older self.

Frantic, she crawled around in a circle, pulling and banging at the metal in hopes of finding some way to get out. She squatted and grabbed the edge of the disc, tugging. It didn’t move. She reached up and yanked at the spot where all the bars curved together through the ring.

Maybe it opens like a flower. She prodded everywhere she could think to prod, but the enclosure felt solid, as if it was one single piece of iron.

Impossible.

Emma sagged to the bottom, somewhere between kneeling and sitting. She tried to rub cold out of her feet while forcing herself not to cry. Her lip quivered, her face grew warm, the lump swelled in her throat. She drew her knees to her forehead and breathed. I’m acting like a five-year-old. I gotta be strong for Tam. Father can’t find me here. The last thought proved to be a mistake, and she let tears slip. Something tugged at her soul, making her tired. Her head popped up. She squirmed, not liking the way it felt to be something’s food. Her brother muttered, still asleep.

“Tam, wake up.”

He mumbled.

She wanted to hold his hand more than anything, but did not even try the futile reach through the bars. “Tam!”

The boy yawned and sat up, bonking his head on the side of the cage. He looked around, startled, rubbing where he had hit. With the realization of where he was, he lapsed into a red-faced screaming fit―wailing for his mother.

“Tam, be quiet. Don’t feed it.”

He continued bawling.

Emma scooted to the side of the cage closest to him, reaching. “Tam, shh, shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

He screeched even louder, saying “Mommy” over and over. By the fifth repetition, his wail was no longer recognizable as a word.

Emma hummed a melody her mother used to sing to them, until his screaming lessened. The song made her want to cry too, but she held on to her need to protect him. She went through a full verse, in hum, before he stuck his thumb in his mouth and stopped screeching.

“Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae, went to the well one summer’s day,” she sang.

Tam sniffled.

Emma let her head lean on the cold metal, her musical voice echoing through the small chamber. “Clear water, clear water, the dear, darling daughter.”

Tam wiped his face.

“Did fetch by the noonday sun,” she sang.

He frowned. “Tam’s a boy’s name.”

“Mother likes that song,” said Emma, sitting back on her heels. “If you were a sister, she’d ‘ave named you Tamrin. Maybe Mama will let you grow your hair long and we’ll put a dress on you.”

His face reddened again, and tears fell.

No…

“I hadda dream they died.”

She slapped the bars. “No, Tam. It’s a lie. It lied to me, too. They’re alive. The Banderwigh wants to make us sad. We can’t be sad.”

“B-Bandy-wee? You said it wasn’t real!”

Emma shivered. “I didn’t believe it before.”

He wiped his eyes and glanced around. “I wanna go home.”

“Me too, but you can’t be sad. Did you see Hannah?”

“No.”

“The lady with leaves on like clothes? Did you see her?”

Tam wobbled his head. “Yeah. She looked sick.”

Emma giggled at his exaggerated nod. “The monster won’t kill us, but he’ll turn us like her if we let him. We can’t let him win. It’s not going to hurt us; it wants us to be sad all the time.”

The boy crawled around in a circle, grabbing and prodding at the bars. After a few minutes of not finding a way out, he pouted and sniffled.

Murmuring voices outside brought her attention to the tiny window. The sound of men talking mixed with the squeak of wagon wheels and the bray of a horse. Emma flew to her feet, pressed against the bars nearest the window.

“Help!” She shook her weight back and forth, rattling and making noise. “Help us! We’re trapped in here!”

Tam joined her in making noise and screaming. After a moment of frenzied shouting, she stopped so she could listen. Whoever was outside had kept going; the voices quieted with distance. Emma set her feet against two thick bars and tried to swing her prison to the point of breaking. It careened around, striking the wall and both adjacent cages with ringing metallic clangs. Tam covered his ears from the noise, but the people outside either failed to notice or failed to care.

Or maybe they weren’t real either.

Out of breath, Emma fell on her hands and knees, feeling a tad sick from the motion of her cage swaying and spinning. Walls went by, one after the next, each without seams or doors. She put a hand over her mouth to calm her stomach, and clutched the small burlap doll. Was this Hannah’s? Did she have this when it took her?

“I’m hungry,” whined Tam.

Emma dropped the toy, careful to ensure it did not slip to the floor. “Me too.”

He pouted. “Sorry I played in the woods. You shouldn’t be in jail too.”

“Tam.” She scooted towards him. “This isn’t punishment. We’ve been taken by something bad. Mom and Dad won’t be angry with us if we get out.”

He curled up on the metal disc, back to her. Emma ran her fingers through her hair, finding fragments of mulch and pine. She leaned against a cold bar, staring at the distant rock wall. Trembling set in as she thought about Hannah, taken at Tam’s age, sitting in the same cage and not being let out until she was old enough to be a mother. If Nan were still alive, she would surely be gone by the time the monster released Emma. What scared her more was the look on Hannah’s face.

Would there be anything left of me then? Would I know who I was? Would I care? No. There’s got to be a way.

She swallowed her fear and stood again, squinting at the walls. “There has to be a secret door.”

Tam sat up and peered at the room with her. Everywhere she looked, roots and dirt cracked through the ancient walls. Not one place seemed intact enough to be a hidden opening. With dread clawing at her heart, she stared up at the roof of the cage. Despite the eerie, burned girl vanishing into fog, Emma considered for a moment that Old Man Drinn was responsible for putting her here. He was certainly mean enough, and she had given him reason to want her to disappear. She daydreamed about what Father would have done to him if she’d told him the old man hit her.

Da had once muttered something about him and thieves. Thieves knew about secret doors and locks and stuff. She pulled herself off her feet, reaching into the upper parts of the cage where everything linked together. Something had to be movable. There had to at least be a keyhole. Little fingers explored the knot of iron through the ring for almost an hour. All thoughts of the old man’s involvement died with her hope of escape. It was one solid mass of black metal.

She plopped down, gathering her arms around her legs and shaking. Drinn could not have made that awful girl vanish. No, nothing she believed in before could have done that. Unless, of course, that was only a dream. Yes, that had to be a dream. Someone’s taken us to get money out of Father. She sniffled. Impossible. The cage was impossible, the room was impossible.

Was the Banderwigh?

Hannah’s parents never found her. Emma’s throat tightened. Hannah’s father was not the captain of the town watch. She risked a smile. Surely, Guard Captain Dalen would save them. Emma glanced up at the tiny window. For her to have heard passing travelers, they would have had to be close. They should have noticed two children screaming, but the people outside didn’t hesitate. Emma traced her fingers down one of the bars, dreading how cramped it would be when she grew up. Her lip quivered.

Is this place enchanted?

Sensing her deteriorating confidence, Tam burst into tears, calling for his mother. Emma closed her eyes so she didn’t see his face; that sight would have made her cry too. A rush of energy came past her like a warm breeze radiating from Tam and flowing into the wall, reminding her the monster feasted upon their sadness.

She slid her legs through the bars, sitting on the edge of the disc, singing and swinging her feet. “Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae, went for a walk one summer’s day.”

He gave her a pathetic stare, but curled up to listen; his tears waned.

Fear slipped from Emma’s thoughts as she lost herself in the memory of Mother singing them to sleep. “She pranced upon the meadow grass, where faeries danced and faeries laughed.”

Tam leaned on the bars, a trace of a smile on his face.

“They found her there, Tamrin Brae, and bid her stay a month and day…”

Emma closed her eyes, remembering the puffs of Mother’s breath on her face.

Her eyes grew heavy and her limbs leaden. Her voice mixed with Mother’s in the back of her mind, trailing off into silence.

he scent of soil filled Emma’s nose, followed by cold wetness all along the front of her body. Startled, she shoved herself up from the ground and gaped at the trees of Widowswood. Sunlight filtered down through gaps in the wavering pines, creating a dancing patchwork of light. She leapt to her feet, taking a few steps in a whirling stride to take in her surroundings. Still in her nightdress, now wet down the front and dirty, she shivered from the early-morning chill. The soft rush of wind in the treetops carried the calls of birds overhead. Emma swiped her hands down her dress, brushing away dead pine needles and clumps of bark. Freedom from the tiny cage made her feel better, but not so much it stalled her involuntary trembles.

“Tam?” she yelled. No response. “Tam!” she shrieked.

Emma balled her hands into fists, and stomped a footprint in the dirt. Angry, she snapped her gaze from tree to tree, searching for that overgrown window. There was no way to know how far away it had taken her from that place. Would it even look like a building from the outside? Perhaps it was an earthen mound with a tiny hole she’d never find. She looked around again, memorizing the area. Tam was still there; the monster had let her go because she could outwit it. Amid her singing, she had forgotten where she was and broke free of the sorrow it so urgently wanted. The Banderwigh still had Tam. Emma squatted and scratched an X in the ground. After digging a deep enough mark, she patted a pair of crossed sticks into it for good measure.

A brief search yielded a sizable length of wood, one too heavy for her to lift all the way off the ground. Emma dragged it over to the mark and squinted through the treetops. If she was in Widowswood―which she was sure of―the sun would be coming up in the direction of home. Emma wrapped an arm over the fallen branch and dragged it behind her, leaving a trail as she marched off. It pained her to leave Tam behind, but it would be silly for her to go looking for the monster alone. She would only get lost, and probably wouldn’t even find him. No, she would come back with Father and half the town guard. Daddy could defeat the monster.

Strange chattering noises, snaps, and a sporadic pulsating thrum of unseen insects emanated from the trees around her as she walked east. The forest seemed different, as if every shadowed patch stared at her. Emma shivered, clinging to the branch, and tried to take her mind away from what had happened by singing.

“Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae, went to the well one summer’s day.

Clear water, clear water, the dear, darling daughter.

Did fetch by the noonday sun.”

Tam’s smile flitted through her mind, but she steeled herself against feeling sad. She would not leave him there. Emma sucked in a breath and pictured her Mother singing. Dragging the stick, she kept walking.

“Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae, went for a walk one summer’s day.

She pranced upon the meadow grass, where faeries danced and faeries laughed.

They found her there, Tamrin Brae, and bid her stay a month and day.

“The Faerie King, the Faerie King, smiled and flew on emerald wing.

Around this girl, Tamrin Brae, his fancy she had caught.

She danced and sang until the night, a feast they did then bring.”

Her wavering voice did not do as much as she had hoped to still her nerves. The urge to drop the branch and run as fast as she could go battered at her resolve, but her little brother depended on her. Emma would not allow that thing to turn him into a wasted wretch.

“Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae, so young and filled with life.

He bade her drink, Tamrin Brae, the wine of faerie’s draught.

To sleep she fell, a month and day, awoke the Fae King’s wife.”

Emma swallowed hard. The song, meant to be calming, was about a girl who had vanished forever into the faerie kingdom, never to be seen again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought of being separated from Tam forever. She caught herself a moment later, refusing to give in. If the monster was still watching her, she did not want it to smell her sorrow and take her back.

She stepped over rocks and roots to the edge of a stream and hiked up her nightdress to keep it dry as she waded through thigh-deep water, cold to the point it made her shriek. The ground on the far side turned into an uphill grade. Emma squinted through the treetops, making sure she still moved towards the sun.

Good. The woods are lower. I’m going the right way.

Before long, the ground grew thick with grass, cold and wet. Trees thinned out as the edge of the forest gave way to open fields, the darkness between trees replaced by grass. Emma grabbed her line-maker with both hands, dragging it behind until she hit the meadow. In the grass, she dropped it. The huge stick was itself a marker. She had emerged from further south in Widowswood than her parents had allowed her to go before, putting a long field of rolling hills between her and home.

Filled with hope, she ran as hard as she could, unable to resist the urge to cry out for her father.

he crested one hill, darted through a depression, and scrambled up the side of the next incline. At the top of the mound, the shape of buildings shrouded in early morning fog came into view far ahead. The sight of home gave her the strength to keep running, despite her exhaustion.

On a downhill slope, she slipped in the wet grass and tumbled out of control until she skidded to a halt, flat on her chest at the bottom. She sat up, clutching a scraped knee, unwilling to cry over something so trivial. Emma growled and got back on her feet, moving in a limping run to the next hilltop.

What she saw there sent her back to the ground.

The fog Emma thought she had seen was smoke. Every hut had burned to the foundation. Trails of smoke wisped into the air from piles of rubble. A few of the more robust dwellings, like her own, remained as little more than stone walls outlining the ghosts of buildings. Emma glanced back at the woods, trembling, wondering how she hadn’t seen any of the smoke before. With little life left in her legs, she plodded down the hill along the same dirt road the leaf-clad woman had taken into the village.

The destruction made her feel like Hannah had looked, drained and without hope. Instinct led her home, and she found a gutted mess. The back wall, which faced the privy, had collapsed outward into loose stones. She crept up the stairs, onto a charred porch she had swept so many times. An ash-covered stick with a small tangle of burned bristles leaned against the wall. The bottoms of her feet turned black as she crossed to the front door. Inside, the raised wooden floors were nothing more than white ash at the bottom of a shallow pit formed by the remaining walls. She climbed down, covering her face with both hands as she tiptoed through the debris-strewn interior. The fireplace, and mother’s cauldron, remained intact. Gone were the bed, the forbidden cabinet, or anything not made of rock.

Overwhelmed, and with tears streaming from her eyes, Emma ignored the wreckage, and moved to where Nan’s bedroom had been. Some of the thicker parts of wood from her bed frame remained as a loose arrangement of what could pass for half-burned fire logs. She squatted and clawed through the silt, coughing and sneezing. When she found no bones, Emma hugged herself and shook. Her home had burned, but her family didn’t die here. Hope brought her standing. Bones would have survived a fire. Emma swallowed back her tears, and wiped her face with her forearms, as soot coated her hands.

What strange things Mother talks about sometimes.

She searched the wreckage of the house, sifting through all the dirt and ash until her arms were black to the elbows. Not one tooth, no skulls, and nothing even close to a bone turned up. Emma let out an uneasy laugh, and made her way to what was once the back door. The townspeople would have all gone to the same place. All she needed to do was follow the road northeast. She climbed the rear foundation wall, narrowly avoiding a splinter in her foot, and walked out among the scattered rocks.

There, on the ground by the water pump, lay the stick-knight and shrub dragon.

Wind lifted her long, black hair to the side and carried tears off her cheeks. Arms slack at her sides, she fell to her knees and closed her eyes. She did not sob anymore; she was too sad to cry. The toys reminded her of the little boy still stuck somewhere in a cage.

“Emma?” rasped a croaking voice from the remains of the house.

She looked up, staring through her fingers as she pulled hair out of her eyes. Nan’s hunched-over figure balanced on her cane in the shadow of what little roof remained.

“Nan!” Emma jumped to her feet, running toward her grandmother. “You’re alive!”

Nan raised her head. Beneath the shawl, her face had turned loam green, eyes aglow with deathly yellow light, and her teeth were gone. Open wounds on her face leaked blood; the bones of her right hand showed through holes in the skin as she reached out.

Emma skidded to a halt on her heels, screaming her lungs empty. Nan moved toward her, cane above her head like a sword, far more nimble than the old woman was before. Emma scrambled backwards, falling on her backside. She rolled over on all fours and crawled into a run, headed for the town center. Clattering cane and crunching twigs chased close behind her. Raw, animal panic seized her as the scent of death surrounded her.

Bodies lay here and there. Guard Kavan, Guard Filner, Old Man Drinn, Marsten the Apothecary. Emma raised her hands and closed her eyes, terrified she’d see her parents or Kimber among them.

Her foot squished through something cold and slimy, taking her legs out from under her and sending her into a tumble that ended against the wall of the miller’s house. The scent of rotten apple mixed with that of burned flesh. Emma clambered upright at the same instant undead-Nan ambled around the corner and pointed the crooked cane at her. Emma grabbed the wall on either side of her, trying to press her body through the rocks. Foulness oozed through her toes, but she dare not look. She edged away until she stepped on something rubbery and cold.

Emma looked down. Her foot had found Julianna’s arm, dead and half buried under the caved-in wall of the blacksmith’s shop.

She sucked in a breath to scream again, but stopped. Her heart pounded, her breathing surged in erratic gulps. She leaned away from the horrible image of Nan, the cold of the stones seeping through her nightdress.

Her mind rose above the panic. How had Tam’s toys not burned? They’re wood.

“N-Nan.” Emma tried to sound confident. “You’re not Nan. Y-you’re the Banderwigh.” She swallowed hard, taking a step toward it. “You are not real. I’m not afraid of you.”

The old woman lowered her cane, balancing on it with both hands. The wounds and death receded, and the green tinge faded from her skin.

“Thank you, child. I needed a little help to get through that one. Tea leaves and incense can only do so much.”

Emma was not expecting this. She pointed at Nan’s face. “What lie is this?”

Nan grinned; her tooth was back. “I’m in your dream now, Emma. The creature is making you see things, but I am trying to help you. Remember when you thought I was asleep?”

“Why should I believe you?” Hands flat against the stone, Emma crept to the side.

“The village did not burn. Your parents are fine, but very worried. Your father still doesn’t believe. No matter, your mother and I can handle him.”

She’s trying to make me feel better. This can’t be the monster.

“Nan…” Emma calmed, running forward into a hug. “Nan.”

The old one patted her on the back, held her for a moment, and let go. “Listen to me, girl. Your home is warm, safe, and waiting. Don’t let him inside your head.”

Emma cringed as a bony finger tapped her on the skull three times.

When she opened her eyes, Nan was gone. She knew this was all a dream now, but still walked away from the village. There was no reason to look upon such sights. The meadow behind her house had no butterflies, fireflies, or anything flitting about but melancholy. Emma set her jaw high and folded her arms. This would not bother her.

“I’ve never tried to wake up on purpose before.” She raised a foot, hesitated a second, and stepped on her own toes. She yelped and hopped, but remained where she was. “I don’t believe this. Do you hear me? I don’t believe this.”

“Emma, help!” Tam’s voice drifted out of the woods.

She raised her foot to take a step, but hesitated, body rigid, eyes closed, fists balled. “No. That is not Tam. I am dreaming.”

“Emma, it hurts!”

Lies. Emma focused on the lie of it, filtering how badly she wanted to help Tam into anger rather than sorrow. She sank into a squat, clamping her arms around her legs. Not real. Emma let herself fall back enough to sit, and rocked.

Not real.

ime slid by in the darkness of Emma’s closed eyes. The faint sound of wind in the treetops faded without her realizing. When she looked up, she found herself hugging her knees, once more trapped in a cage that could not be opened. She stretched her legs out and braced a hand on her belly to stall her emotions. Nan was right. Nan was still alive. Emma narrowed her eyes. I will win.

The scent of ginger wafted through the air, bringing her notice to the lone table. It sat beneath the empty cage between her and Tam, something having moved it while she slept. It was close enough for either of them to reach plates of sweetbreads set at the ends. Something had gotten inside the room to bring them food. Something had gotten inside a room with no doors.

It will never let us see it. It makes us sleep to bring food.

Emma frowned at the feeling of confinement. Any sadness ran away in the face of her anger. She snarled, half-considering trying to break her way out. Her fury waned at the sound of Tam crying. Emma squatted at the edge of the hanging prison, face pressed between bars.

“Tam, stop crying. Nan is alive. I saw her in my dream.”

He raised his head, looking as though he could burst into tears at the drop of a hat. “I saw Mama, but she’s a ghost.”

“You had bad dreams. Don’t believe them. Mother and Father are alive. The village is not burning. The monster is lying to make us sad.”

Tam sniffed the air, leaning over to peer at the treats.

“No, Tam. Faerie bread is dangerous. Don’t eat it.”

“S’not faerie bread, it’s Bandy-wee bread.”

She slapped a bar for emphasis. “Don’t trust it.”

“We’ll die if we don’t eat. It smells good.” He rubbed his stomach. “It’s too big to be faerie bread. Faeries are bitty.”

“Nan’s pie is better than those stinky rolls.”

Tam smiled.

“Mother’s bread is much better than some silly monster’s baking. Like, when it’s warm and just out of the oven.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” His mirth faded to a pout at his lap.

“Don’t be sad. We won’t be here long.” Emma shifted from squatting to sitting, letting her feet dangle outside again. “Tam, you ‘member that time Old Man Drinn had too much brandy an’ he tried to get on his horse and the saddle fell off? Dumped him right in the water trough?”

“He used bad words,” muttered Tam, a trace of a smile forming.

“Or when Hadrath’s fence broke and all the pigs got loose?”

Tam giggled. “They’s runnin’ through town for days.”

Emma laughed. “One got into Marsten’s shop and started eating everything.”

“He used bad words on the pig.” He slid to the side of his cage, sticking his feet out. “An’ the pig was sick for a whole month. Its poo kept catching fire!”

“Ugh, you would remember that part.” Emma grimaced. “Da’s gonna go to Calebrin in a couple of days with Mister Valis. He said he’s gonna bring you back a real wooden sword.”

Tam’s eyes bulged. “True?”

“Yeah.” She looked up, kicking her legs back and forth.

Tam mimicked her pose: legs dangling, feet swinging, and rocked his cage back and forth until he giggled.

“The Feast of Zaravex is three weeks away. There’ll be cakes and sweets!”

He gasped, drooling. About to cheer, his happiness faded. “What if we’re still in here?”

“We won’t be. I thumped Rydh Cooper when he stepped on Stick Knight’s horse. I’ll thump the Bandy-wee.”

Tam snickered at her forced mispronunciation.

Emma looked up at the creaking chain and kicked her legs harder. “Hey, these are like swings.”

He rocked harder, also laughing.

“Tam, you ‘member when Da tried to make us a swing?”

“Yeah,” he cheered. “You broke ‘froo it. Your bum hit the ground and you turned red.”

Emma winced at the remembered pain. “Yeah. And the branch fell on Da’s head.”

They laughed, swinging higher. The squeak of moving chains sounded like birds.

She swished her feet back and forth finding a steady rhythm, and took a great breath before she sang, “Run, rabbit, run rabbit, through fields of men.”

Tam more shouted than sang. “Grey rabbit run fast, run fast to your den.”

Emma added a twisting motion to the swing, giggling as she sang. “The hounds are a’comin’, the hunters pursue.”

“Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, or be rabbit stew,” Tam sang, before he broke into fits of laughter.

She sang loud, her voice flooding the chamber. “Through hill and hollow, run, rabbit, run. Until the hunters and dogs are none.” His expression gave away he’d forgotten the next line, but Emma kept going. “The men, they give chase with many sharp arrows.” She slowed, lowering her voice as she drew out the last line. “Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, back to your barrow.”

His laughter echoed off the walls as they rocked back and forth, twisting and laughing as though they played in their backyard. They started another repetition of Run Rabbit, singing all the lines together. Emma let herself go, no longer Tam’s “little-mother.” With nothing in her power to do about her situation, she let herself be his sister―a child as well.

Tam’s face flashed by as the cages swayed and creaked. Giggling filled the tiny underground chamber. Blurriness crept in, making sounds seem distant and watery and framing his smiling face with a nimbus of light. Her own laughter seemed to slow down and reverberate through her mind. Nan was trying to find her. Mother was alive. Her family loved her. Emma did not notice the walls oozing blood from the mortar, the protruding roots blackening, or the approach of sleep until she fell backwards and hit damp ground.

er stomach hurt from laughing too much. Foggy eyes widened to the sight of trees reaching straight up into a clear, blue sky. The cool, soft presence of the forest floor was comfortable to lie on as the last bits of giggles worked their way out of her chest. She pulled her arms in and put a hand to her forehead. Grass tickled her legs as the wind picked up. Unable to stop smiling, she forced herself to sit up. Tam lay on his chest a few feet away, grinning in his sleep. She crawled to him, sitting at his side while shaking his shoulder.

“Tam,” she whispered, jostling him until he moved.

A leaf stuck to his lip as he pushed himself up to kneel. Emma plucked it away, dusting him off. She looked around at the woods, fearing another trick. Contagious cheer surrounded her brother, and she found herself giggling again. He pounced on her, dragging her to the grass and tickling wherever he could get a hand past her defenses. Emma squealed with glee, overjoyed that cold iron no longer separated them.

They played until they were both out of breath and wound up face-to-face and gasping for air. He seemed to have forgotten all about being taken and put in a cage. Emma did nothing to remind him of it, and rolled on her back. He cuddled against her side, arm over her chest.

“Em?”

“Yeah?”

He leaned his mouth an inch from her ear, whispering. “Are we sleepin?”

He does remember.

Wary, Emma sat up, and took hold of his hand. She gathered her feet under her and stood, lifting him by one arm. A slow turn panned the woods, yet nothing seemed different from the time she had found the village burned.

“I don’t know.”

He stuck his tongue out at the trees.

“What?”

Tam pointed. “Trees aren’t scary now.”

She had to agree. The forest was brighter, less eerie than it had been the last time she woke up out here. Having Tam with her was also a happy change. It otherwise looked like the same spot where she dreamed it had released her before. Fear that she would find the trail she’d dragged in the dirt made her hesitate for a moment, but when she looked―and did not see it―she laughed. She considered hunting for that hunk of wood again to lead the guards back here, but decided against it. Getting home faster was more important.

With a hand shielding her eyes, she squinted at the sky. It seemed like it was afternoon, so she put the sun to her back and pulled him along. They walked, Emma leading, in the direction she believed was home. A breeze whispered through the treetops, drawing her gaze upward. Birds flitted overhead, adding to her hope that they had escaped for real. Tam went to go after small rodents or giant moths, or anything else that caught his eye. Emma kept a grip on his hand, guiding him. She muttered at the sound of cotton ripping while climbing through the underbrush. She missed the dress Nan made―simple thorns never seemed to tear it, and it did not snag in the woods.

As in her dream, she found a trail that allowed them to pick up the pace until they stopped at the edge of a small stream. She crouched upon the bank, ankle deep in mud, and gathered a few handfuls to drink. Tam hovered at her side, doing the same. When she had enough, she eased one foot into the flow, gritted her teeth, and gathered her dress to keep it out of the water. With each step, her feet sank into frigid ooze and the water crept up her legs. By the time she made it halfway across, the water was past the middle of her thighs and her teeth chattered.

Tam, unconcerned with being wet, flung himself headfirst and splashed about, squealing with delight from the surprise cold. Emma climbed the muck on the east side of the stream, flapping her nightgown to breeze-dry her legs.

“Come, Tam. Mama and Da are worried. We need to go home.”

He frowned, trudging out of the water. “Are we in bads?”

“No. Nan knows what happened. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tam grinned, letting go of her hand and darting off.

“Tam!” she yelled, running after him. “No.”

When he stopped to look at her, she ran into him and they both fell. He giggled; she gave him a cross stare. He tried to tickle her again, but she held his hands. Tam continued laughing at her stern face, until she cracked up.

“Don’t run off,” she whispered, once the giggle fit ended. “There’s wolves.”

“Goblins too,” he said. At first defiant, the thought of that scared him into a whisper. “Goblins will put us inna stew like Rabbit.”

Emma got up and dusted herself off. “There’s no goblins.”

He ground his toe into the dirt, staring down. “Jes like there’s no Bandy-wee?”

“I―”

Snap.

She whipped around at the sound of a branch cracking. Tam clung to her back. A number of whispery voices chittered in high-pitched words―no language known to them. A patch of green moved, and a four-inch long nose came around the side of a tree, attached to a potbellied body only an inch taller than her. Stubby wart-covered fingers curled around the bark. Nostrils rimmed with wiry bristles flared as it took deep breaths; saliva squeezed through rotting teeth at the flick of an unseen tongue, dripping from a hairy chin.

“Ow!” Tam yelled as she clenched his hand.

She ran, dragging him behind her. Clambering boots chased them, accompanied by snaps and grunts. Tam howled, but she kept going, dragging him several times when he tripped. Emma ignored the sharp rocks and painful roots, stumbling twice, but not falling as she dodged low-hanging vines. Something fluttered overhead, its presence hardly registering in her mind. Trees blurred by on either side. A gurgling wail, fleshy thud, and high-pitched swearing behind her brought a grin to her face, until the sudden rise of lupine howls lent her a burst of speed. The forest thinned ahead, and there were eyes in the dark.

Emma skidded to a halt. Tam ran into her back, knocking her forward a step. A dozen wolves, including the huge one she had seen the other day, emerged with fangs bared, snarling.

She whirled at chattering behind her. Seven or eight goblins, potbellied bodies squeezed into crude-stitched leathers and brandishing crude spears, tromped out of the woods. They regarded the children with greed in their eyes. One looked at Tam and snapped its teeth at the air; it looked at him the way Father stared at steak.

Emma recoiled from the goblins, getting two steps into a run, but froze as the wolves crept closer. Gold eyes gazed at her. Tam buried his face in her chest, shaking. Emma locked stares: hungry wolves in front, hungry goblins behind.

The Banderwigh’s cage did not seem like such a bad place after all.

olves snarled. Goblins chittered, pointing spears at her and Tam. Emma had a feeling she now knew the goblin word for “yummy.” She crossed her arms over her little brother, holding him tight as she stared into the pale, yellow eyes of the largest wolf. Its gaze held no malice, only urgency.

“I don’t think the wolves want to hurt us, Tam,” she whispered, patting his back.

He squirmed around to look. The lead wolf lowered his head as if in greeting. A twig snapped under a goblin’s burlap boot. All at once, the line of wolves surged forward. Emma flinched and whimpered, eyes closed. Fur brushed past her. When she dared look, the forest in front of her was empty; the woods behind filled with awful sounds: wails, growls, and goblin cries of pain.

She bolted through the sparse patch into thick woods, until the sounds of goblin slaughter grew faint. Emma ran until her legs felt like pudding and she stumbled to a halt against a tree, gasping for air. Tam, panting, fell seated, wobbled, and went over flat on his back. He kept a hand on her leg as he tried to catch his breath. Emma gave in, and slid down the tree to sit next to him. The forest filled with the sound of snarling wolves, splintering bones, and shrieking…goblins.

He sat up at the noises, hiding his face in her chest. Emma wrapped her arms around his head, kissing and staring over his hair into the trees, squinting in the direction of the fracas. She wanted to be ready to run if a goblin broke through and came after them, but she was so tired. Her urge to stand succeeded only in causing one foot to slide forward.

One of the high-pitched voices let loose with a phlegmatic wail. Emma could almost see clumps of spit and drool flying from the creature’s panic-stricken face as it yelled. Despite being in a foreign tongue, it was repeated several times―an unmistakable command to run away. She cradled and rocked Tam for a moment without saying anything, giving him another kiss atop the head.

“They’re gone.”

Tam looked up at her. “Kay.” He looked around before resting against her shoulder. His fear at being lost wavered his voice. “I wanna go home. Which way is it?”

“I…” She shivered; she had no answer. “Umm.” Don’t cry. Just go east. She stood, waited for him to get up, and took his hand. “East.”

They moved away from the tree, Emma walking with craned neck to look for the sun.

A large raven swooped by so close it startled a yelp out of her. It circled around before alighting on a branch a short distance away, and tilted its head at her. She gazed at it for a silent moment. It looked like the same bird as the one that showed up at Kimber’s pitiful home. Don’t be silly. It’s a raven. They all look the same. The bird hopped around, showing its back, and flew to the next tree. It angled its head back at her and squawked.

It wants me to follow it. Emma blinked. How do I know that? First wolves act strange, now birds?

“Okay,” she said, swallowing. One tentative foot touched the grass before the raven flew to another, more distant, tree.

Tam looked up. “Wha?”

“I’m talking to the bird.”

“Oh,” said Tam, taking it in stride. “Mama talks to them too.”

Emma shot him a look. “She does n―”

“She does. ‘Member you called her sillyfeathers?”

An involuntary giggle slipped out. “Yeah…”

Emma, come.

She blinked. The voice in her mind sounded like Nan. Hesitance gone, she broke into a run, following the raven. It glided ahead, alighting on a branch some distance away. Before she caught up to it, the bird flew again, going from tree to tree until the sound of her own name shouted by men rang through the woods. One of them sounded like Father.

“Father!” she yelled. “We’re here!”

“There, that way,” cried a man. “I heard a child.”

Kavan?

Emma halted. Running in circles would only make it take longer. She remembered father telling her that. Stay in one place. Wait.

“We’re here!” She jumped up and down, waving her arms. “Da!”

“Papa!” shouted Tam, grinning.

“Emma? Tam?”

Definitely Father.

Branches and twigs crushed and cracked. Motion caught her eye to the left.

“Daddy, I’m here,” she yelled again.

Six armored men, dressed in the blue cloaks of the Widowswood Village guard, emerged from the brush. Arnir, the eldest, had a smear of green ooze on his thigh. Emma’s sprint for her father slowed to a stunned stagger. Is that goblin blood? That wasn’t a dream? Powerful arms scooped her off her feet into a crushing hug that jarred the thought out of her mind. An instant later, Tam joined her. She cuddled into her father’s arms, crying tears of joy.

“Thank the gods,” he said, kissing them both.

Emma hung there, happily enjoying being a child carried by her father. In his arms, the woods did not scare her anymore. The search party collected in a line and trudged until they found a path, which they followed among the trees.

“Damndest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Kavan.

“Indeed,” said Arnir. “Wolves attacking goblins… What’s the world coming to?”

“Aye,” said Kavan. “An’ they dinnae run at us!”

“At least we ‘ave some stories for the Inn.” Filner clapped his leg.

Emma smiled at Kavan, grateful for all their help. She let her gaze wander over her father’s shoulder at the trees receding into the distance. The large wolf peered out of the foliage. She no longer felt afraid of him, and waved. It bowed its head and darted off. A yawn forced its way out of her and she rested her head against the warm, leather-covered armor. Father squeezed her and kissed atop her head once again.

Greens and browns passed, viewed as a blur through half-closed eyes. She did not know what to believe any more. The Banderwigh was real. Goblins did exist, and for a reason she could not begin to grasp―wolves did not feel like eating children.

Father carried them back towards town. Tam was sound asleep before they walked out of the trees and onto the dirt path. Emma stared at the receding woods, but gasped when a light brown patch caught her eye amid the green at the side of the road.

In the grass, about twenty paces from the forest, lay an abandoned apple basket.

espite her protests, Father carried Emma down the trail to their home. A handful of people who saw their approach stopped what they were doing to look at her. The relief on their faces at her safe return created a warm spot in her heart, and deepened her worry about Kimber. One woman ran off, presumably to tell the entire village Emma and Tam had been found safe.

Father strode onto the porch and set Emma down first. Her feet touched the boards, but she stayed on tiptoe trying to climb back into his arms.

“Da, it’s taken Kimber! It let us go, but it took her.”

“Your Mother would have had my head if I didn’t bring you home straight away.”

“We have to go back,” wailed Emma. “It’s got her! Her basket was by the trail.”

He set Tam down, and took a knee, brushing her hair around her face and leaving his hands on both shoulders. “Em, do you know where this supposed creature is? What do you expect to do if you find it?”

She stared up at him, eyes brimming with tears, unable to think of anything to say. Frustration hurt as much as the guilt she felt at being safe while Kimber sat in a little hanging cage.

Her best answer came out as a desperate whine.

The boy scampered inside, yelling, “Mama!”

Father stood, pivoting her to face the door with a gentle hand at her back. “Your mother and I were sick with worry. Nan thinks some critter got you.” He chuckled. “Thank the gods you’re safe.”

Disappointment showed in his face, though he seemed too happy to have found her alive to scold her. Emma started to pout at her feet but wound up squinting at him with a determined expression.

“We didn’t run off. Tam had ta pee in the night and the Banderwigh took us.”

Father straightened. “Emma… You’re rarely given to being false with me.”

She folded her arms and frowned at the woods. The large raven overflew the house, swerving into a dive as if to land in the open space behind it. “I don’t want it to keep her. She’ll be like Hannah when it lets her go.”

“It?” Father kissed her forehead. “I’m not angry with you, Emma. If you got lost in the woods, you can say so. I give you my word you won’t be in trouble as long as you promise never to run off like that again.”

“I didn’t get lost. Why would we get out of bed in the middle of the night and go into the woods? The Banderwigh took us! It put us in cages that can’t open in a house with no doors out in…” Emma blinked, realizing how nutters she must sound.

“You and your mother.” Father shifted his weight back and glanced at Widowswood. “You both have some vivid dreams.”

“Da. I’m not lying.” She held her ground, not blinking. “I didn’t believe it either before.”

He scratched at a few days’ worth of beard.

Emma sulked. Father had to punish people who lied all the time. He knew lies. The unsettled look in his eyes said he didn’t think she was fibbing. For whatever reason, he couldn’t grasp the truth. She sighed; an uneasy smile was as close as he’d get to saying he believed such a story.

“Captain Dalen,” shouted a guardsman as he jogged up.

“Yes, what is it?” Father shooed her into the house and closed the door, which pushed her forward another step.

Mother had Tam in her arms, seated by the kitchen table. Emma offered a weak smile, staring down at her muddy feet. She remained with her back pressed against the door, listening.

“Ol’ Man Arden’s dead,” said the guardsman. “Was found in ‘is bed this morn.”

“Arden Drinn?” asked Father.

“‘Ow many Arden’s we got in the town?” The guardsman’s dry chuckle seeped through the door.

Emma swallowed, eyes wide. Kimber’s dad? The man who bruised her face, beat his own daughter, and forced the girl to sell apples to buy wine was dead?

“Em, come here,” said Mother, waving her closer. “Why do you look so sad? You’re home.”

She ran into her mother’s arms, sniffling. “The Banderwigh’s taken―”

Mother grabbed Emma with her free arm and pulled her close, kissing her atop the head. Seconds before it seemed she would faint from being unable to breathe, Mother relaxed and sniffled.

“Oh, Em. I thought―” Mother squeezed her again, fighting sniffles.

Voices outside, muted by the closed door, grew quiet; the guards passed the window and walked away down the street. Emma stared down, ashamed of herself for being safe while the little red-haired girl suffered.

Nan emerged from the rear alcove, hurrying into the house brushing her arms, sending a handful of black feathers fluttering. Emma gawked. Nan walked without her cane, over to a side table where a small glass bottle sat in a bowl of herbs, by a dagger and two molten candles.

“You’re getting careless, Beth.” Nan plucked the glass bottle from the bowl, dashing its contents into the cook fire.

The room flared with a rush of warmth and the smell of sweet, fermented fruit. For a few seconds, the fire tripled in size and turned purple.

Mother stroked Emma’s hair. “You should’ve seen the poor girl. Em told her she could come by for food. He would’ve killed her eventually.” Emma gurgled as Mother’s hug grew tight at the thought. “The wretch laid his hands on Emma. Left a bruise on her face from cheek to chin.”

“Yes, yes. Reckless, but good intentions. All things considered, she handled him well enough.” Nan put her fists to her hips. “Well, he won’t hit anything anymore, now will he?” Her tone was almost teasing, at the same time scolding. The old one set about cleaning the contents of the table, clucking her tongue.

“It’s fine, Mother. The bastard had too much wine. He just drank himself to death.”

Emma glanced from one to the other as they spoke, barely breathing, suppressing the urge to giggle at her mother using a naughty word.

“Must have been some strong brandy.” Nan grinned, sniffing the bowl. “Faeberry?”

“Nan,” said Emma. “The Banderwigh got Kimber.”

The privy door slammed outside; bad memories made Emma jump.

“Easy, Em. Why so twitchy?” Mother fussed with her hair.

She had not yet found anything to say by the time the back door creaked open. Kimber crept in, eyes downcast, shaking as if afraid she’d be yelled at for making the slightest sound. Purple covered half her face, one of her eyes had swollen closed. The red-haired girl took a seat at the table by a plate full of crumbs, and managed a smile.

“Hi, Miss Emma.”

Emma couldn’t believe her eyes and blinked at her mother, at Nan, and at Kimber. The girl looked as though a horse cart had run her over. She shivered from worry as a group of townspeople walked past the window.

Seconds later, a knock at the door made Kimber cringe. She looked as if she wanted to crawl under the table. Emma twisted in her mother’s arms, peering through the window at a crowd congregated outside.

“They’ve come to see you, Em,” said Nan.

“They’re going to ask me what happened.” Emma took in a breath and let it out slow. “What should I tell them?”

“What else?” Nan smiled with a wink. “The truth.”

mma stood at the top of her porch steps, graciously accepting pats and hugs. Mother hovered at the door, whispering thanks overhead as each person came by. Her story drew pitying looks and whispers about bandits getting too bold. Most thought she’d been grabbed in the middle of the night by a brigand looking to hurt her father. She felt smaller and smaller as they drifted off, consumed by gossip and the idea that the Captain of the Guard should not live so far from town. Others sounded terrified that such a brazen crime could have been committed against the daughter of the town’s best swordsman without so much as one witness.

“No… it wasn’t bandits,” whispered Emma. She glanced back and up at Mother who offered a knowing nod. “It wasn’t.”

“Aye, Em.” Mother moved up behind her, grasping her shoulder. “I believe you.”

Emma smiled and clasped her mother’s hand.

When all who had come to wish her well had walked away, Emma trudged behind Mother back into their home. Kimber crawled out from under the table and climbed into a chair. She sat for a few minutes with her face hidden behind her thick, curly hair. Nan wandered by, giving Emma a squeeze on the shoulder before she checked on Kimber. The pale girl lifted her head, and the old woman pulled her hair aside like a curtain.

“Oh, my.” Nan blurted as she got a good look at the child’s bruises.

She rushed over to the cabinet and whipped both doors open. Glass containers full of various colored liquids as well as bowls, feathers, herbs, and strange stones lined the shelves. Nan moved like a woman possessed, gathering bottles and bits of plants in a flurry of activity. She threw everything in a large bowl and stirred it, muttering the whole time.

A moment later, she hurried back to the table and set a wooden bowl in front of Kimber. “Here, child. Drink this.”

Mother cringed, covering her mouth. Nan bugged her eyes and shook her head at Mother, gesturing at their guest.

Kimber made a face at the milky-white concoction. It reeked of plant matter and mint, and looked far from appealing. Emma scrunched up her nose and held both hands over her face.

“Well look at you two,” snapped Nan. “You’re the same person in two different sizes.”

Mother rolled her eyes. “You never did make very good potions.”

“They work, don’t they?” Nan ruffled like an old hen, gesturing. “Your mother makes ‘em taste good. What matters that as long as they work?”

“It’s more than taste.” Mother ran a hand through Emma’s hair, drawing out brambles. “My, you need a bath. Nan’s been jealous for years of my potions, you know.”

“Bah.” Nan waved at her. “You still haven’t learned how to change.”

Emma giggled, cuddling with her mother and grinning ear-to-ear at Kimber, who still had not touched the odd drink. Nan gave her a stern look, as if to remind the child there was no choice in the matter. Kimber took it in both hands, choking the mess down in one long series of gulps.

The expression that followed made Emma glad she did not need to have any. Kimber coughed and gagged, tongue sticking out. She clutched the edge of the table, making sounds as if she were about to retch. Emma lost her appetite. Kimber swooned in the chair, her coughs quieting. The swelling and redness on her face faded, and the bruises on her legs disappeared. Her black eye receded to a mild bruise. Kimber swayed around in a circular wobble, dizzy and looking about to fall asleep where she sat.

Nan wandered about, pulling a chair up to the end of the table. She eased her weight down and glanced back and forth between the two girls. “Well now, Em. I reckon’ you gave that ol’ Banderwigh more than he could handle.”

“What?” Emma shifted to face the table, leaning back against her Mother.

“Well, you see. The ladies of this family carry the gift. A critter like that cannae be hurt easily wi’ swords. You gave him a wallop, you did. If he comes back, it won’t be till you’re a Nan yourself.” The old one winked.

Emma giggled. Tam pouted.

Nan lifted him up. “Maybe you too, boy. But’cha can’t pass it on.” She sniffed at his hair. “Maybe Uruleth.”

“The bear spirit?” asked Mother.

“Well, he’s always runnin’ around bare,” said Emma.

Mother groaned.

Nan set Tam in a chair by some bread, which he attacked. “So, child. Do you still think my Faerie stories are nonsense?”

Emma drilled a guilty stare into the table. “No.”

Tam gave her a raspberry and a shower of wet crumbs.

Nan’s chair creaked as she settled into it and leaned back, gnarled fingers clutching the table’s edge. “Good. Now, I think you are ready to learn. Believing is the first step.”

Emma gave her mother a questioning look.

Nan flashed a mischievous grin. “Your mother was a stubborn one, too.”

n hour of running about in the meadow behind the house ended with Emma, Kimber, and Tam laying in the grass and picking out shapes in passing clouds. Father had put his foot down that morning, dragging the girls into town to the tailor’s shop. Emma had taken all of five minutes to pick out the plainest white sundress she could find. Kimber, on the other hand, must have tried on everything in the shop close to her size before settling on her current attire: a frilly, berry-pink outfit that made her look like an enormous doll. Father also purchased a plain dress for Kimber and a fancy one for Emma, which remained tucked away inside.

Emma laced her fingers behind her head, crossed her ankles, and smiled. Her “nice” outfit would stay safe in the house until they forced her to wear it.

“Cow,” said Tam, pointing skyward.

Kimber giggled, indicating a different cloud. “That one looks like a mouse.”

A four-winged longfly buzzed about before landing on Emma’s big toe. It shifted to face the wind, twitching with the gusts. Kimber cringed at the sight of an insect the size of a dinner fork, and crawled behind Tam. Emma paid no attention to the bug, knowing longflies did not bite people―they hunted other bugs. She wasn’t at all sure what the clouds looked like any more. At least none of them looked like a Banderwigh. Kimber laughed at a silly face Tam made.

Too many questions bounced through Emma’s mind for her to enjoy gazing at the clouds. Father had not spoken again of her ‘wandering off’ in the middle of the night. She didn’t get the feeling he was upset with her, so she let it go. Still, she would rather he believed her. The longfly shifted, walking over her toes and making her giggle. A moment later, it flicked its wings out flat, and took off with a heavy, droning buzz that sent Kimber into the grass with a shriek. Emma tapped her foot against the air, attempting to sort things out between the world she thought she knew and the one she’d just escaped. As much as the Emma of a few days ago would have agreed with Father about it being all a dream, she knew it wasn’t.

Tam perked up. “I’m hungry.”

“Dinner’s not for a while,” said Emma.

“C’we have fruit?”

Kimber stopped smiling. “I don’t want apples.”

Emma got up. “I’ll ask Nan for some cherries.”

She swatted bits of grass away from her dress as she walked to the house. The fragrance of candlewax and herbs swirled around in the warm air. Nan stood by her special cabinet, puttering around. Mother was out. Emma went for the pantry, slowing as she passed her grandmother and weaving about to peek at what went on.

“Done playing?” asked Nan.

Emma grasped her wrist and ground one toe into the floor. “Tam’s hungry, are there any cherries left?”

“Come here, child.” Nan turned to let her see the counter, where various herbs and a bowl of dark green powder sat.

Eyes wide with curiosity, she tucked up and grasped the edge of the wood. Dried berries, leaves, stalks, bottles of liquids in different colors, jars of animal parts, and odd powders filled the cabinet Nan never allowed her to see before. It looked like a much smaller version of Marsten’s shop.

“Gather a few strands of that,” said Nan, pointing at a bowl containing thin blue filaments. “Put them in this.” She tapped a well-worn three-legged stone pestle.

Emma reached, but hesitated before she touched it. “What is it?”

“Nymph’s Hair.” Nan cackled to coughing at the face Emma made. “No, girl. It’s a plant.”

“Oh.” Emma took some. As soon as she felt it, she flung it into the waiting stoneware, and rubbed her hand on her dress. “It’s fuzzy and sticky.”

Nan took one more thread from the bowl, drawing it between the thumb and forefinger in both hands. She held it to Emma’s eyes, moving it so the light caught hundreds of fine hairs.

“The stickiness comes from small hairs. It won’t harm you.”

Emma touched one hesitant finger to the strand, poking at it a few times before finally grasping it. It draped over her hand as Nan let go. Her expression was one of confused disgust.

“See, it just feels odd.” Nan motioned at the pestle. “You’ll need five strands. You only took four.”

“What are we doing?” She added it to the rest.

“Making an elixir that can mend small injuries. Now, add a spoonful of that.” Nan pointed at the green powder. Before Emma could ask, she winked. “Dried liferoot, set to bask in the light of a full moon on the longest night of the year.”

“Why?” Emma measured out a spoonful of the crumbling dust and dumped it into the mixing vessel.

“The moon gives it power. Perhaps you’ll learn that ritual someday.” Nan winked. “Now, add a bottle of water and stir.”

Emma poured the contents of a nearby bottle in, grabbed the mortar, and began to work the mixture into an off-smelling paste. Once the threads of Nymph’s Hair were no longer identifiable in the muck, Nan held her hand over the pestle and closed her eyes.

“Uruleth, hear me. Grant the boon of life to your children.”

Faint green light surrounded the old woman’s hand, falling as luminous vapor into the mixture. Strange symbols on the side of the stone vessel glowed in response. Emma stopped stirring for a few seconds, staring in shock until the light faded.

“Do not stop, child.”

The symbols again flared to life as Emma grasped the pestle in both hands and ground the mixture. Within moments, the brown sludge turned white and thinned out. The earthy smell grew herbal; the same substance Nan had given Kimber the previous day.

“Nan?” Emma shifted to the side to let her grandmother pour the goop into a bottle. “You turned into the raven, didn’t you?”

Wrinkles deepened with a smile. “Yes, child.”

“I’m sorry for not believing you.”

“Oh, Em.” Nan patted her on the back. “It is nothing to be sorry of. Many people go through their entire life without seeing such things. Beth was almost fourteen before she believed me.”

“Beth?” Emma blinked. “Oh, Mama.”

“Here.” Nan gave her an empty glass flask. “Pour that in this.”

She poured the mixture in, marveling at how it slid out of the pestle without coating it. Nan took the bottle and twisted a cork into the neck before setting it on a shelf inside the cabinet.

“Can I turn into a raven?” Emma put together the ingredients for another healing elixir.

“I don’t know.” Nan tapped a finger to her chin. “It’s different for all of us. It depends on your animal spirit. Mine is the raven. Your mother still hasn’t found one. However, she has a gift for making potions.” Emma grunted as a conspiratorial elbow found her ribs. “Why do you think your father is so brave and strong?”

Emma rubbed her side, eyebrows furrowed. “The pouch Mother gives him when he goes out?”

“Indeed. A little magic never hurt.”

“He doesn’t believe either, does he?” Emma stirred while Nan used the green magic again.

“He makes excuses to explain everything he can’t understand. He is from Calebrin, a big city two days northeast. They are removed from nature there. They think themselves above it with their big temples and important gods.” Nan waved her hand about. “Too important for little old us.”

Emma stirred until the substance turned white again. “I think I have a spirit, Nan. A wolf.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve seen wolves twice and they didn’t try to hurt me.” She upended the pestle, filling the second flask. “The big one seemed worried about me.”

Nan tapped a cork into the bottle. “Could it be you were just lucky?”

“They saved us from goblins.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Nan patted her on the head.

“What are you?” Emma looked down. “I mean, what are we? Am I like you and Mother?”

“I believe so.” Nan caressed her cheek. “Some call us hedgewizards, others think of us as weedmages. A few think we are woodwitches, and some call us druids.”

Emma made a face. “Druid doesn’t sound as silly as the others.”

“It doesn’t matter what we are called, Em. We have a special bond with the natural world. Respect all things, and it shall be your ally.”

“Does that mean we can’t eat meat?”

“No, Em. Wolves and bears eat meat, as do cats and dogs. Mind you, be grateful to whatever animal gave its life. The spirits go around in an endless cycle of life and death.”

“So we’ve eaten the same cow more than once?”

Nan cackled. “Not exactly, though…” She rubbed her chin. “I suppose it is possible. More likely the cow came back as something else.”

“Who is Uruleth?”

“Uruleth is the bear spirit, the guardian of life. We call upon him for healing and strength. Strixian is the spirit of the owl, a bearer of great knowledge. Ylithir is the wolf spirit, known for his cunning and guile. Loyalty as well, to his pack.”

“Can I do… magic?” Emma glanced at the pestle.

“You are a little younger than your Mother was when she learned her first bit of magic, but I think we shall start soon.”

“Strixian…” Emma muttered.

Nan slapped herself on the thigh and snapped her fingers. “Why don’t we start with something basic, see if you have the knack? Try this. You do believe now, do you not?”

Emma offered a weak smile. “Uhh, yes.”

“Alright, Emma. If you believe Strixian is real, ask him to teach you the whisper of the wildkin, so you can talk to them.”

“What are the words?” Emma tilted her head.

“What do you want them to be?” Nan winked. “Whatever you need.” She closed her eyes, whispering. “Strixian, spirit of thought, grant me the gift of the wildkin.”

Emma gasped with delight as tiny wisps of light wrapped around Nan. They faded soon after, and the old one looked at the far end of the room and made a series of strange squeaking sounds. Two mice peeked out from under the bed, one of which ran over and sat up on its back legs.

“Go on, Em.” Nan gripped her shoulder.

She tried to imagine the same strands of light around her arms, convincing herself what Nan told her was real. “Strixian, let me have the wildkin whisper.”

Emma swung her arms in a dramatic swish, like Tam’s dragon-slaying wizard. She stared at her plain, somewhat dirty, and definitely not-glowing hands.

She pouted.

“Not bad, Em. But, you didn’t want it enough. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Not everyone in our family has the gift.”

Emma squatted and looked at the mouse. It was difficult not to believe, after everything she had seen over the past few days. She gripped her knees and concentrated on the need to speak to the little rodent. “Strixian, please teach me the wildkin whisper.”

A small tingle spread across her shoulders, as if something drifted close to see who she was. Emma tensed, offering a momentary thought of reverence before calling out with desire. The strange energy flowed into her body; a tingly warmth entered the middle of her back, spread through her chest, and flowed down her arms. Threads of light wisped around her, circling and weaving through her fingers.

“No think no think she do it. Too young. Too young,” squeaked a tiny little voice.

“Hello?” Emma wanted to talk, but made a squeaking sound.

The mouse jumped, doing a backflip. “Wow, wow. Worked!”

“How long does it last?” chirped Emma.

The mouse spun in a circle. “Don’t know. Don’t know. Ask old one.”

Emma whirled on Nan. Everything she tried to say came out as squeaks, which sent the mouse into fits of laughter the more panicked she got.

“You have to do more than talk while the magic is on you.” Nan squeezed her shoulder. “Before you speak, focus on if you want to talk to a person or an animal.”

She stared up at Nan, making a series of exaggerated determined faces. “How long does it last?”

Nan clapped. “Good. Only a few minutes.” She stooped and squeaked at the mouse. This time, Emma understood it as a “Thank you.”

The critter scurried off, hiding once more under the bed.

“I wanna learn more!” Emma bounced.

“All things in time, child. You should master that before going further.” Nan tapped her on the head. “That is why boys have more trouble with it. They can’t wait to learn everything all at once. They want to go straight to the lightning, and think they waste time talking to mice.”

Emma giggled. When understanding crept in, her jaw dropped. “Lightning?”

“That’s many years away, girl.”

Nan ambled over to the pantry, taking a sack of cherries down from a shelf.

“Can you show me what it looks like?”

“Not now, Em. This house is too nice to destroy.” Nan waited a moment, and burst into cackles at the horrified look on Emma’s face.

“Nan.” Emma wandered over. “Would it break the house? What does it look like?”

“Have you seen a storm where the sky flashes?”

Emma nodded.

“Well, it’s like that, but it goes where I want.” Nan dug her hands into the cherries. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m still your Nan. I’m not going to burn down any houses.”

Emma held her dress up into a bowl. “Nan, what was the Banderwigh?”

Nan doled out a three-child portion of cherries and put the bag away.

“I think they are men who have fallen victim to an old curse. Some believe them to be tortured souls, who suffered so much in life that they returned to take revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Yes, child. Revenge on anyone who would dare be happy while they suffered. Others may be distraught fathers whose children were taken away from them. Some, perhaps even by another Banderwigh. They tried to kill the creature, or wandered in search of their lost family until they died. Some may have even succeeded in destroying one, but when they touched the beast’s tainted weapon, the darkness devoured their soul. Or, maybe they’re simply what they are―monsters.”

Emma leaned away from the strange look in Nan’s eyes and swallowed. “Is Kimber’s dad gonna become one?”

Nan waved at her. “Oh, no. That man wasn’t worth spitting on, but wasn’t the kind of evil that turns into such a creature.”

“I was scared it would take Kimber. She was always alone in the forest. Why did it take me an’ Tam?”

Nan rubbed her chin and closed the pantry. “Why do you think?”

Emma stared at her dress full of cherries for a moment. “We were happier. It would hurt more to be taken.”

“Yes, yes, close enough I suppose.” Nan shooed her toward the door. “Don’t keep them waiting. Oh, and Emma…”

She glanced back from the end of the porch.

“Try not to talk to any of the local horses, they’re such horrible gossips.”

mma sat cross-legged in the meadow with her eyes closed. No one had spoken of the Banderwigh for almost a week. The village had even seemed to forget about Old Man Drinn’s sudden death. The most anyone had said of it was how shocked they were it had taken as long as it did for the strong berry brandy to kill him. No one was shocked. She couldn’t figure out how long she’d been in the cage; Mother said she’d been missing for a whole day, but it didn’t feel like that much time had passed.

Head tilted back, she inhaled the breeze that touched her face and kept her hands on her knees. She tried listening for the sound of spirits; however, every time she felt calm, a bug would land on her face or the grass would brush her legs. Each tickling distraction, insect or plant, broke her concentration and left her frustrated.

She leaned forward, raking her fingers through the grass and thinking about what Nan had said. Life took on many forms, each of them essential. Does grass have feelings?

The wind calmed and she tried again. Something buzzed past her ear. The noise ceased at the same time a light presence upon her cheek crawled up onto her nose. Emma ignored it, listening to the sound of the breeze and thinking of the big, grey wolf. Silence. She opened her eyes, which crossed to focus on a bee the size of Father’s thumb, all black, except one small spot of white hair between the wings. A flyeater. Emma thought about puffing at it, but did not fancy a giant, red nose for a week. It departed in a moment, letting her breathe again. Once her nerves settled, she shut her eyes and thought about spirits and the strange green light fading into the pestle.

The feeling that wisped around her when she had used the speaking magic was, according to Nan, Strixian’s first contact. At the moment she felt it, she tugged at her desire and the magic had worked. Emma focused on that feeling, but did not think about any specific animal. Minutes passed: filled with quiet breezes and the occasional buzzing insect going by. Everything seemed to still, and a presence filled in the void before her.

Where are you? Are you my animal spirit?

Cold touched her forehead. She opened her eyes, finding herself nose to nose with the large wolf she had seen twice prior. Instinct made her heart race. Considering their respective size, it could snap her neck with ease. She leaned back, mouth agape. It stood still, staring right through her. She called upon Strixian. The energy responded, and the wisps of light skimmed along the meadow and surrounded her.

“Greetings, Emma.” The wolf’s jaw moved as though it had let out a howl too soft for human ears, but the voice she heard sounded like a man. Deep and confident, like Father. “It is good to know you.”

“Thank you.” She reached out and touched him, fingers combing through the fluffy fur on the side of his face. Excitement ran through her blood. She moved to kneel, and the wolf allowed her to wrap her arms around him. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“The raven is friend. So shall you be. Come, little one.” The wolf turned sideways.

She glanced at the distant house. Everyone else was inside. Tam was no doubt engaging in knight vs. dragon warfare while Nan watched. Mother had gone with Kimber to see the Magistrate.

“We will not be long.” The great wolf lowered himself to the ground.

Emma stepped over him, sitting on his back and twining her fingers in his fur. When he stood, her feet could not reach the ground and she gulped. His sudden bolt into a run made her scream, but the sound turned gleeful before her lungs emptied. Meadow grass became a dull green blur, punctuated by the sporadic glow of a streak of firefly. He ran up and down small hills that felt as though they flew through dips and dives. By the time they reached the edge of Widowswood, she couldn’t stop grinning and laughing.

“Lean forward,” said the wolf.

She gripped with her legs and bent forward, sliding her arms around his neck. For a few minutes, he bounded through the brush and weaved among the trees. She looked around in awe as he trotted over a fallen log, through the mist of a modest waterfall. The undergrowth on the other side was thinner, and they cleared ground with such speed Emma felt tired from watching. He slowed to trot along the edge of a smaller waterway, perhaps the same one looped back, until it split around a tiny island. The wolf bounded all the way to the far side, where he resumed a brisk trot.

She sat upright, relaxing and looking about at the woods. Everything felt different now. Gone was any sense of fear or worry; the natural world embraced her as though she were safe in her home. He leapt another fallen tree, landing in a shaded grove where wolves had made their den. A dozen adults and several puppies perked up. The little ones raced over to greet the alpha, eager to gain his favor and show their respect.

The wildkin whisper translated the names of the adults into concepts: Runs in Shadow, Stalks the Wind, and Moonsong came forward to greet the one who had brought her, Greyfang. All the wolves came to sniff at her; wet noses roamed her legs, arms, and neck. The puppies licked and nipped at her toes, making her giggle.

The moment had every making of a nightmare. Emma knew she was a defenseless human child surrounded by carnivores, but she felt no fear. For no reason she could explain, she trusted them, and they returned her lack of fright in kind.

Moonsong, a black-furred female, remained after the others wandered off. “Human… Please, follow.”

Greyfang stooped to let Emma dismount. She walked after the female, past a cluster of curious puppies who kept yapping “hi.” Moonsong stopped at the end of a row of stacked stones, a long-forgotten ruin of human construction. The wolf swung her head back and glanced up at her with sad, green eyes.

Emma crept around the broken wall and gasped at a wounded, light-furred wolf, lying on its side and wheezing.

“Howls at Rain. He is of my womb,” said Moonsong. “The metal fang of a goblin will soon take his life.”

“I’m…” Emma felt tears well up in her eyes. “It’s my fault.” She approached.

Howls at Rain snarled, baring fangs. “Human…bad.” His aggression trailed off to a whimper as she neared, gasping through his nostrils in short breaths. “You…” His tongue flicked at her leg.

She knelt at his side, feeling through blood-matted fur a hand’s width behind the right shoulder. A dagger strike oozed blood; the wound smelled foul.

“I’m so sorry… I’m just a child. I don’t know what to do.”

The mother wolf bowed her head.

The potion. Emma blinked hard, clearing her eyes of tears and her mind of helplessness. She placed her palms flat on either side of the wound and tried to remember. What did Nan say? Greyfang moved up alongside his mate; Moonsong nuzzled him.

“She is still a pup,” said Greyfang.

Moonsong padded over and touched noses with the hurt wolf. “We have given our son for the life of the humans’ pup. Is this the will of Ylithir?”

Emma choked back a sob, the guilt overwhelming. She offered an apologetic look to the wolves for a moment, before resolve filled her heart.

“Uruleth, Spirit of the Bear, I call on your power to heal.”

She gritted her teeth, straining as if she needed to force the effort out of her own body. When she opened her eyes, the wolves were gone, and the trees were different. Her mouth hung slack as she looked at spectral pines, wider around than a house and too tall to see the tops. It seemed dark as night, yet every surface shimmered with an unearthly light that outlined all detail and fluttered in wisps.

She looked down at her hands, still held as if over the wound. Howls at Rain had faded to grey and ceased moving, as if part of the background. Her mind raced, searching for some explanation for what had happened.

“Uruleth―”

“I am here.”

A voice rolled like a tumbling boulder through the woods, shaking her bones. Emma bit her lip at the sight of a ghostly mass in the shape of a bear, advancing out of the trees towards her. If it yawned, its mouth would have been large enough for her to walk into, standing. Such a massive thing should surely have scared her, but a sense of reverence overtook her and she bowed her head.

“You ask me to restore a child of Ylithir. He who is known for cunning, he who is known for taking advantage of the weak. I do not know you, daughter of Bethany Dalen, daughter of the Raven. Why should I heed your ask?”

“Great Uruleth…” Her voice wavered, unsure. “I am Emma. I believe the wolf is my spirit, and this one was hurt saving my life. If not for him, the goblins would have killed me and my little brother. Ylithir is also known for loyalty to his pack, is he not?”

Blasts of warmth lofted her hair from a massive nose. “You have the taint of darkness on you, child.”

“A Banderwigh took me.”

“And yet you are here.”

Emma shivered from the powerful voice that flooded everything in this strange reality. “I did not let it make me sad. It set me free. The Raven said I banished it.”

“You are strong, but your fight is not yet over.” The sense of Uruleth’s presence receded. “You have managed to draw nobility from the opportunist. I shall grant your request.”

Her gaze snapped up, but the bear spirit had gone. In the far distance, the shadow of an ethereal wolf raised its head to look at her. The grand animal stood statue still, a transparent figure defined by threads of pure white light. His blue eyes shimmered and seemed to convey acceptance. Emma smiled. Amid a great rushing sound, the other-forest vanished to blackness. Soft green light glowed in front of her, pooling in her hands. She stared into it, feeling energy drain from her as it grew in size and intensity. A part of her knew she held pure life, seeping through her fingers with a vibrant, yet cool tingle. Fur swelled up beneath her hands, and she was touching the wolf again.

She startled at the coldness of a nose at the side of her neck. The wolves were back; all crowding around to get a better look at the cloud of emerald light wrapping her arms. Hope on her face, she watched it swirl. Howls at Rain’s wound did not close. Alarmed, Emma shivered for an instant before she remembered what Nan had said about desire. She took a determined breath and tensed.

Focused on the want to help, she forced the life energy around her hands into the creature before her. The glow diminished and the wound shrank to a small scab. Howls with Rain made a soft noise somewhere between a sigh of canine relief and a growl, and lapsed into sleep. Moonsong sniffed at where the wound had been, and rubbed her head against Emma’s.

The gesture made Emma cry again, this time because she was happy. She thought of Mother’s reaction when she had seen the bruise on her face. Moonsong nudged at Emma’s side until she put an arm over the wolf, then licked at her face.

“Emma,” said Greyfang. “Your mother is searching for you. Come, I will return you to your family.”

She climbed onto the large wolf’s back once more without a trace of hesitation. Greyfang bounded into a run. They flew among the woods, leaping thick bundles of roots and swerving around dense trees. Emma let go of his neck and held her arms up, calling out with delight at the wind in her face.

“Emma!” Mother’s desperate shout echoed through the forest.

He steered towards the sound, trotting out onto a clear trail. A few paces away, Mother spun about at the sudden appearance of a wolf of that size, a quarterstaff raised. The sight of Emma riding it stunned her mute for a moment―but Emma was every bit as shocked to see her mother in a dark green robe and darker cloak, with enough fierceness in her eyes to give any bandit pause. Emma had never thought Mother as much more than a townswoman, but the way she held the staff showed that her family was full of surprises.

Greyfang crouched so she could dismount. Emma ran into her Mother’s embrace.

“I’m sorry to frighten you. There was a hurt wolf. I spoke to Uruleth!” Emma bounced.

Mother bowed at the alpha, who brought his head low for a moment in acknowledgement before zooming away into the dark.

“I see Nan has taken to teaching you some things already. I would like to know what happened.” Mother smiled.

Emma drew a gasping breath at a trickle of green liquid working its way down her mother’s weapon.

“It is nothing to fear, Emma. Just a few goblins.”

She clung to her mother’s side as they walked home, and told of her meeting with the spirits.

ind howled outside, driving rain into the walls. Emma, Kimber, and Tam lay on the floor in the loft, on one of Nan’s quilts. The area did not have separate walls and ceiling so much as two angled surfaces that could be called either. Storage trunks lined the sides of the small space, and one tiny window above a bench let in grey light. Rain pattered heavy on the roof, surging in waves with a gusting wind. Tam lay flat on his chest, his stick knight and shrub dragon locked in mortal combat before his eyes. The girls had flopped next to each other, propped up on their elbows. Kimber dug her feet into the quilt for warmth while Emma crossed her ankles in the air and gnawed on a cookie from the plate between them.

Emma smiled as she thought about baking them a few hours earlier, with Nan’s help. The cookies had come out lacking in sweet, but Nan saved them with a brushing of molasses.

Tam made roaring noises, distracting her from her daydream. Shrub Dragon wanted to devour all of the cookies before the children could get any, but Stick Knight had the upper hand. Kimber fussed with the yarn hair of a cloth doll Emma had bequeathed to her; she had not much bothered with them since she had taken to looking after Tam.

The new member of the family looked so different with her hair clean and combed―not wild, frizzed, and matted with dirt. She was still too scrawny, something Nan was determined to remedy. No one in the village seemed the least bit upset at the death of Old Man Drinn, though Kimber got sad about it sometimes. Emma couldn’t understand how she could have any feelings for that man. She tried to imagine how she would feel about Father if he treated her like that. She snarled as she bit off half her cookie in one chomp.

Emma stared through the bite mark while grumbling in her head, wondering how an entire village whispered in secret, lamenting how bad poor little Kimber had it. All the while, no one did anything to help. Of course, now that he was dead, they clucked like hens about how the gods always took things to rights.

A twinge of unease crept through Emma’s gut at the thought of him. The look in Mother’s eye when Emma admitted how she’d gotten bruised was frightening. The staff-toting woman in the woods was rather different from the happy mother who smiled and waved at everyone in town at least once a day. Emma shivered at a surge in the wind, wondering if her mother might have played a part in the man’s death. She remembered the flash of purple fire, and Nan’s praise of how good Mother was making elixirs.

Could she have killed him?

Emma glanced into the armhole of Kimber’s dress, where protruding ribs moved under her skin. She would have starved if he didn’t hit her to death. Emma felt uneasy about the idea of Mother taking a man’s life, but…maybe it was for the best.

Tam tugged the cookie plate away as Kimber reached for one, moving it closer to him and Emma. Kimber’s smile vanished and her eyes reddened. She let the doll slip out of her hands and looked away from both of them. Gales forced the scent of rain into the house.

“Tam!” Emma handed Kimber a cookie. “That’s not nice. Why did you do that?”

He mashed his toy figures together, not looking at either of them. Emma tapped her fingers on the floorboards until he looked up, giving her a pathetic stare.

“Tam?”

He sniffled. “I only get half your love. You gotta share it wif me an’ her now.”

Kimber crossed her arms and put her head down.

Emma went from lying on her belly to sitting with her legs to the side. She leaned forward and ruffled his hair. “Tam, love isn’t like cookies. I don’t have any less for you because we got a new sister.”

“Mom didn’t have her.” Tam pointed.

The red-haired girl mumbled something. From the sound of her voice, she was crying. Emma crossed her arms and gave him a stern look.

“What?” asked Tam.

“Be nice, Tam. He might have been mean, but she’s just lost her father.”

“He was bad,” said Tam. “I know he was bad ’cause he made her go in the woods alone. We’re not ‘llowed to do that ’cause Papa says we’ll get hurt.” He thought for a moment. “Did her Papa want her to get hurt?”

Emma cringed. She hated lying to her brother, but he was only six. “I… don’t think so, Tam. He was careless and stupid.”

Kimber curled on her side. “Yer Ma an’ Pa don’ really wan’ me. They bein’ a nice ‘cause I donnae ‘ave a home na more.”

“You didn’t have a home before.” Emma put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Kimber, Da and Mama want you to be part of our family. Me an’ Tam, they had to keep ’cause she had us. They chose to keep you.”

Tam gave Emma a raspberry.

Sniffling, Kimber rolled over and sat up, unable to look Emma in the eye. “I’s a so scared ‘a him. He always hittin’ on me, no ma’ how good I tried ta be.”

“Mama was mad at him for that. She protected us both, like a mother should.”

Kimber smiled through tears and wiped her face. “Tha’ be nice, if she wan’ me.”

Emma took Kimber’s arm. “Grab my wrist.” She took Tam’s arm. “Grab her wrist.”

The three children sat, forming a circle by a grip on each other’s arm. Tam held Kimber, who held Emma, who held Tam.

“Great Strixian,” she intoned, closing her eyes. “Make us one family.” Emma dropped her voice to a faint mumble that neither Tam nor Kimber could hear. “Grant me the gift of the wildkin whisper.”

The magic of beast-speech came to her in the form of the wispy white lights. Kimber and Tam went wide-eyed as glowing threads circled them and flowed into Emma’s arms. She raised and lowered their combined grip twice and made a show of breaking the circle with her hand held up, fingers apart.

“There,” said Emma, with a matter-of-fact nod. “Now we’re real siblings.”

Her brother looked at her as though she’d poured cold oats in his skivvies. Kimber cradled her wrist and sat with her mouth open. She looked from the quilt at Emma’s knees to her face and back again.

Emma folded her arms across her chest to settle the matter.

“W-what was that?” whispered Kimber.

“Magic,” said Emma. “You saw it, right? You’re our family now.”

Tam gazed down, guilt all over his face. He bit his lower lip and pushed the cookie plate towards Kimber.

Nan shuffled into view at the bottom of the loft ladder and gave Emma a conspiratorial wink. “Em, Kimber, come help me start on dinner. Your father’s going to be frozen when he comes home in this weather.”

Emma leaned to whisper in Kimber’s ear. “See.”

n the week following Emma’s “ritual” in the loft, life had taken on a sense of normal. Nan occasionally whispered to her about magic, but avoided the topic more than spoke of it. Kimber had come out of her dark spell, and the house had filled with the giggles of children. Even Father had warmed up to her, despite his hesitation about taking on the burden of another child, especially after Mother and Emma had cornered him one night. Emma did not let on she knew what Mother had done, but they both made it clear Kimber was there to stay.

Emma sat chest-deep in murky bathwater, running a soapy rag up and down Kimber’s back. Tam sat on the other end, in front of Kimber, who scrubbed his hair. He amused himself by grasping at suds, closing his fists so hard white puffs shot into the air. Mother used the space behind Emma to wash laundry. Nan wandered by, causing a break in bathing while she refreshed the bathwater from the kettle. Emma scooted away from the rush of heat at her back, squeezing Kimber into Tam. She swished her arm through the water to mix the not-so-warm with the near-boiling parts.

When the heat became tolerable, Emma relaxed and scooped water over Kimber’s head with a wooden bowl, rinsing the soap out of her hair. The fragrance of wildflowers surrounded them.

Emma sniffed the air. “Nan, why do you make your soap smell nice, but your potions taste like dirt?”

Mother stifled a chuckle.

“Bah.” Nan flung her hand down in a dismissive wave, and winked at Mother. “And bah to you too. The both of ‘ya, indeed.”

Emma handed the bowl to Kimber so she could rinse Tam’s hair. After that, the children rotated to face the other way. Emma helped mother with the clothes while Kimber washed her back. Tam, now behind Kimber, threw suds on her, the floor, the table, Mother, and Nan when she went by. Kimber grunted, trying to squeeze her leg between Emma and the wooden tub in order to sit comfortably. Emma scooted forward to give her more room, as she stuffed one of Mother’s dresses underwater and scrubbed it.

“How ma’ time’ d’we ‘ave to do this?” whispered Kimber at Emma’s ear.

“Do what?” asked Emma

“This.” Kimber slapped at the surface. “Sit inna water.”

“Have a bath?” Emma held up the dress to appraise a stained spot. “Once a week.”

Kimber’s hands stopped moving through Emma’s hair. “Neva hadda bath a’fore.”

The old man had barely fed her, much less taken proper care of his daughter. Emma did not want to dwell on such things. “I can tell. It feels like Tam is throwing soap on me.”

He giggled.

“‘E is throwing soap on us,” said Kimber.

Mother left the last few pieces of laundry to Emma, and moved over to teach Kimber how to wash. Emma squinted at the bundle of wet cloth in her hands, jealousy rising. When the little fingers running through her hair paused, she glanced back. The large smile on Kimber’s face, and Mother’s wink chased it away. Three of Father’s shirts, and two full hair-washes later, the water had gone cool. Emma sank neck deep, slouching with her knees out of the water after she finished the last item―a cooking apron.

Mother got up, wiping her hands on her dress, and went to fetch towels. “That’s quite enough, come on, all of you out before you prune.”

Tam leapt from the bathwater and ran off into the house.

Kimber climbed out of the tub, laughing at him. Emma pulled herself upright and stood there dripping.

Mother shook her head and draped towels over the girls. Emma pulled the cloth off her head and wrapped herself in it.

“I tell you, Beth. His patron spirit is the bare.” Nan clucked.

Emma giggled. Mother seemed unamused.

“He takes after his Mama. You know, girls, after baths, your mother used to run outside―”

Beth glowered, throwing the wet apron over Nan’s head. “Mother!”

Nan laughed herself to tears.

As the girls dried themselves and put their dresses on, Mother stalked off in search of the runaway boy.

“Hang the lot outside, will you?” said Mother. “Tam, come here this instant! Get down from there!”

Against the backdrop of running and laughing deep within the house, Emma, still mostly wet, tugged her less-than-favorite dress in place and gathered up an armload of wet clothing. Kimber took the rest, and they went out onto the planking behind the house. The back porch was a less grand affair than the front. It stood off the ground at only the height of a single stair, and held a small table and three chairs, two of which rocked. The girls dropped the clothing on the table and Emma dragged the stable chair over so she could reach the clothesline.

Summer was fast approaching. Warmth had settled into the wind, which lofted the fragrance of meadow flowers and made securing the wash on the line a chore. Already, the town buzzed with anticipation for the upcoming festival of Zaravex. As far as Emma knew, it involved lots of cakes and candies for the kids and three days’ worth of people making noise late into the night. For some reason, the grown-up ladies seemed to be wearing a lot of flowers in their hair around that time.

An orange and red sky settled behind Widowswood, bringing the fireflies to prominence over the grass as the sun faded. Emma ran her fingers through her hair, flinging water and letting the breeze dry it. She got down, slid the chair to the left, and climbed up again. Kimber handed her each piece in turn; soon, wet clothes filled the line.

Laughing, Tam bounded out of the house in a sky blue tunic and went off in search of glowing bugs. Mother leaned on the doorjamb, folded her arms, and smiled at the three of them.

The girls hurried along at their task, eager to finish before the sun was gone. Mother walked over and shooed them into the field, taking over the rest of the chore. Emma and Kimber leapt off the porch.

“Time for bed soon,” called Mother.

“Yes, Mother,” replied both girls at once. They exchanged a glance, and burst into giggles.

With at least a half hour left before dark, they dashed off into the waist-high grass, chasing fireflies. The waning light seemed to vanish much faster than Emma wanted it to, as they caught and released glow bugs before going off in search of more. Tam was determined to find the biggest, best glow bug of all.

“It’s dark,” said Kimber. “We should go inside.”

“Yeah.” Emma leaned her hands on her knees to catch her breath after running over. “Tam?”

No answer.

Emma stood up on tiptoe. “Tam?” she repeated, louder.

“Tam!” cried Kimber.

Snap.

Both girls spun at the noise from the tree line. They had gotten rather far from the house and could see into the woods. Something moved. Kimber cupped her hands to her face and called for Tam again. Emma froze in place, trying to find the shadow she knew she saw. When Kimber touched her arm, she screamed.

The sudden reaction made Kimber cry out and clasp her hands over her mouth.

“W-what?”

Emma opened her mouth to answer, but the darkness moved again. She pointed. Now crying, she called out. “Tam! Where are you! I’m not playing.”

Snap.

Kimber gasped, that time she heard it too. She clung to Emma’s side, shivering. “Wot’s ‘at?”

“M-maybe it’s Greyfang.” Emma didn’t believe her own words.

“Who’s ‘at?” asked Kimber.

“A nice wolf.”

Kimber scrunched her nose. “Wolfs in’nae nice. ‘Ey bite.”

Emma studied the tree line. The shadows held malice. Whatever lurked in the dark wasn’t a wolf.

“T-Tam?” She spun around. “Kimber, g-go home before it comes after us.”

“Rawr!” roared Tam, leaping out of the tall grass with his hands like claws.

The girls both shrieked.

He fell over, laughing. Emma pounced on him, gathering two fistfuls of his tunic and shaking him. Her hair fell around her like a curtain of night.

“By the gods, Tam! Don’t do that to me!”

He went pale, terrified of the look on her face.

After a lingering glare, she pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry. You scared me.”

Crack.

She jumped, dragging her brother around to put herself between him and the woods.

“Why are you mad? You beat the Bandy-wee.”

Emma backed away from the trees, seizing her brother and sister by the hand. She wanted to run, but her legs would not move. All she could do was stare into the dark.

“Tam? Kimber? Emma?”

They tugged on her arms, but she felt rooted in place. Mother’s voice scratched at her fear.

Tam yanked harder. “Em, Mama’s calling.”

Emma blinked, shaking her head. “W-we should go.”

Mother gathered her dress and left the porch, looking worried. Emma squeezed her siblings’ hands and pulled them into a run for home, not once daring to look behind her. Mother let her pass, lingering for a few seconds to peer into the forest before following the children back into the house.

mma shot bolt upright, grasping at the bars of a cage that did not exist. Finding herself at home, in bed, she sat for a moment, shivering and clutching the blanket to her chest. When it sank in she was safe, she rolled over and squeezed Tam until he gave her a “what are you doing?” glare. Kimber had migrated into the spot where Mother usually slept, limbs spread every which way as though she’d fallen out of a moving wagon. Mother had rolled into the void left by Father, who was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the outhouse. Emma crawled out of bed, giving up on any chance she would she be able to get back to sleep.

Besides, it would be morning soon.

She rummaged through the huge chest at the foot of the bed until she found the dress Nan made. Off came her nightdress, and she wriggled into the beloved garment, clinging to it as if it would protect her from what she’d felt last night. After wearing her new clothes for a while, it felt too small on her, but she didn’t care. Nan, also awake before the sun, was in the process of gathering fruit and bread for the morning meal. Emma scurried over to help. It did not take long for the old one to notice the fear in her.

“Spiders in your dreams again, Em?”

“No.” Emma lifted the great wooden bowl with both arms, too big for her fingers to touch on the other side. “I saw something in the woods last night.”

“What was it?” Nan raised an eyebrow, following her to the table with a loaf of bread.

Emma set the bowl down and pushed it to the center of the table. “Dark. I didn’t exactly see it, but I knew it was there. Something wanted to hurt me.”

Nan picked at a few wiry grey hairs on her chin. “A boar perhaps? Certainly, the goblins wouldn’t dare get so close to town.”

“It wasn’t goblins.” Emma went back to the pantry for the cheese. “It sounded too heavy. I don’t think it was an animal.” She set the block down by the bread. “It felt like…hate staring at me.”

“Hmm.” Nan pursed her lips. “I suspect that’s why Beth went out. I don’t think she found anything.” The old one shrugged. “If she did, she hasn’t said a thing.”

They set the table and laid out the breakfast meal. Minutes later, sunlight leaked over the horizon, the rays soon bright enough to make Emma’s squinting eyes water.

Father thundered in through the front door, stomping and clattering in full armor. He took the broadsword from his belt and leaned it on the wall, heading for the table. His boisterous arrival woke Tam, who sat up and stared blank-faced at the wall.

“I swear on Belephir’s sweaty ba―” He glanced at Emma. “I swear… The next time Glinn and Dorran decide to get into a drunken punch-up at two hours till dawn, I’m going to charge them with destruction of property.”

“What property did they destroy?” asked Nan.

“My sleep.” Father sat and leaned his elbows on the table, raking his gauntlets through his hair as he leaned forward. “Em, what are you doing wearing that rag?” He downed a half-stein of water in one swig. “I thought we agreed to keep it for sentiment only.”

Tam crawled off the bed and trudged over.

“She had a fright, Liam.” Nan ambled over and patted his brigandine pauldron. “To her, it’s no different from this.”

Father chuckled. “Must be something special about it… I can’t imagine how it’s not fallen to pieces, old as it is.”

Tam tugged on Emma’s arm. “Pee.”

Emma bit her lip, looking at the window. Early morning sunlight sparkled through the thick, uneven glass, fuller now. She took him by the hand and walked him to the privy. This time, she went in with him before he could slam the door in her face. She turned her back on him and locked the door.

“You a’scared?”

She let her head sag against the rickety wood. “Yeah.”

“Me too,” whispered Tam.

The family gathered around the table for breakfast. Mother glanced at Father with worry in her eyes―he ate as fast as he could without choking. Tam poked Kimber in the side, starting a tickle war. Emma couldn’t stop thinking about the way the forest made her feel. It couldn’t be true. The Banderwigh was gone, not to return until she was Nan’s age. It could not possibly be coming for her again.

She stared over her bread at Kimber’s bright green eyes as the girl raised a knee to block Tam’s hand. No, it wouldn’t come for her. It wanted her sister. It knew Emma wouldn’t give in, and Kimber had been too broken before to be a tempting target. Now that she was happy, it could hurt both of them by taking one. Emma scowled at her plate. She wouldn’t let it win. She was ten years old now. Two younger kids needed her protection.

“What did those berries do to you, Em?” Father chuckled. “You look like you want to smash them flat.”

She blushed. “Nothing.”

He stood, leaning left to kiss Mother, and right to pat Tam on the head. He ducked between the girls, with an arm around each of them, and planted a smooch each atop their heads. Kimber looked up at him with adoration on her face.

“I’ve got to go on patrol.”

Mother scrambled out of her seat, racing to the special cabinet. Emma slid off her chair and ran to Father’s blade where he had left it leaning on the wall. She wrapped her arms around the scabbard, grunting with its weight. The scent of weapon oil tainted the taste of her half-chewed mouthful as she brought it to him. Mother handed him a leather-wrapped bundle: elixirs to keep him strong, awake, and fast.

He ruffled Emma’s hair and went outside with Mother. Emma waited all of ten seconds before she scooted out of her chair and snuck over to the door, leaning the side of her head against it. Kimber soon appeared next to her, almost nose-to-nose. Emma held a finger up in a “shhh” gesture. Kimber nodded.

“I don’t like this, Liam,” said Mother. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“You worry too much, Beth. It’s just local bandits. The man looked a lot worse than he was.”

“The caravan lost two men. Bandits don’t often kill the merchants; they want to rob them again the next time they come through. He was barely alive, and did you see what was done to the horse?”

Emma gasped.

“I don’t know, Beth. Something’s got them riled up. It might be pressure up north. Mercenaries from Calebrin and Andor are moving against highwaymen all over Andorath. Activity has been picking up as of late and it’s got the King’s ear. You know his favorite way of solving any problem is to throw enough kingscoin at it to bury it. This poor sot might’ve just made the mistake of only having four guards.”

“What if it’s mercenaries from Namriel?” Mother sounded worried. “The Talethians have been eyeing Andorath for a long time.”

Kimber bit her knuckle, trembling. Emma held her hand.

“I rather doubt that. The Talethian Empire has already overextended itself. You should hear all the stories that come out of that place. Faeries in the woods, indeed.”

“Aye, strange thing about stories. Sometimes, they’re true.”

The sound of a kiss made Emma cringe.

“This is bandits, maybe something what strayed in from the north. We’ll be fine.”

Her mother sighed. “I don’t like the idea of you traipsing about in the forest looking for trouble.”

They were quiet for a moment. Both girls made icky faces as sounds gave away an obvious long kiss.

Father grumbled. “I’ll be fine. It’s not as if I’m going alone, there’ll be twenty of us. Braddon’s insisting on it.”

“Why doesn’t he go with you, then? If it’s so important.”

Emma grinned at the look she knew Mother wore at that moment: chin raised, eyes flaring, hand waving.

“Because he is the mayor, and it’s his job to tell―”

“Nonsense. He’s a coward.” Mother’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Just…be careful. Em’s riled up about something and you know how the girls in the family can get.”

“Well, then I’m not too worried. Small girl, small problem. If your mother was in a tither, I’d lock myself in the wine cellar at Eoghn’s.”

Mother laughed. “It’s not like some sort of scale, you know.”

The girls cringed at the sound of another kiss, and scampered back to the table. They looked too innocent when Mother walked in. Nan found the crumbs on her plate fascinating. Mother slipped into her seat, gaze down and hands bracing her forehead, thick curly hair falling onto the table.

“Don’t be afraid, Mama.” Emma moved to her side. “It’s not after Da.”

mma came to a halt at the back door, leaning on the wall to catch her breath. She swept her hair out of her face and managed a half-hearted smile, watching Kimber and Tam running about in the meadow. The sky over Widowswood glowed with a dozen shades of orange and purple; it would be dark soon. Emma got three steps into the house before her smile collapsed. Mother still sat at the table, arms crossed in her lap, staring at the front window. Little of her supper had been touched; most of it remained on the plate. To the right, Nan’s muttering echoed out of the hallway leading to her tiny bedroom.

Mother had not slept the first night Father failed to come back from patrol. When another day passed without sign of him, she’d donned her traveling clothes and cloak and spent the day searching the woods, finding only goblin blood, which Nan collected. The old one had asked every bird and critter she encountered, yet none of them could find the missing guards. It was as if the forest had swallowed them whole.

Now, after three days, Mother looked as though she’d given up hope. Emma knew what she felt out there; she sensed the hate in the dark. Only fear that the Banderwigh had returned―for her―kept her from being as upset as Mother.

“Mama?” Emma tiptoed over, resting her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

She said nothing, but reached up to grasp Emma’s arm and stared at the front door.

Tears knocked on the inside of Emma’s eyelids from the expression on her mother’s face. Emma knew something was wrong, and moved in front of the chair.

“Mama, you didn’t eat anything.”

“What has become of your father? None of the men have been found. Not one. No tracks. It’s as if they never were.”

Emma drew in a breath to answer, but held still. The floor became awash with heavy, frigid air, growing colder without apparent cause. Numbness spread through her feet and crept up her legs. Dread left her staring without words for a full minute. Her sudden sprint for the door startled a gasp from Mother. Emma ran to the edge of the back porch. A thick mist fell from the trees of Widowswood, surrounding their meadow in a curtain of white. Her brother and sister ran about among tiny, dancing dots of light―oblivious to what was coming. Emma leaned as tall as she could and held her hands to her mouth.

“Tam! Kimber! Come inside.”

Kimber slowed her playful run to a trudge, and looked towards the house. Tam stopped in place, waving his arms.

“Did Mother say we hadda come in?”

Emma looked down, curling her toes over the edge of the wood. “No, but I want you to come inside.”

He laughed and kept going.

“Tam, please!” She stomped. “Something’s wrong.”

Kimber jogged up alongside her. “What’s happened?”

It’s got Father. Emma gulped and kneaded her dress. “Da’s not returned yet. Mama’s worried something’s happened. I don’t like the way the air feels. It’s too cold.”

Kimber hugged her.

The wind picked up, lofting hair red and black. Kimber squinted into the breeze, out toward the forest. Emma stepped onto the dirt beyond the porch, but the other girl wouldn’t let go. Fear was contagious.

“I don’ae see nothin,” said Kimber.

“It’s not the seeing.” Emma cupped her hands to her mouth again, shouting, “Tam! Now!” She took a step back. “It’s the feeling.”

Kimber squeezed her.

Tam held his arms out to the sides, waving them up and down. “What? The sun’s not down yet.”

“I’m gonna put him in a sack,” muttered Emma.

Kimber yelled over Emma’s shoulder. “Tam, please come in.”

With both girls against him, he hung his head and came trudging back to the porch in a winding, back-and-forth path. At each turn, he balanced on one leg for a moment before nearly falling sideways into the next bit of walking. He wore a face as though he’d been sentenced to a month of nothing but turnips and broccoli. As soon as he got close enough to grab, Emma seized his hand and pulled him into a hug. She pushed him past her onto the porch, and guided both children inside with a hand on their backs.

His grumbles stopped at the sight of Mother’s forlorn stare. He flopped on the rug by the fireplace to reenact the slaying of Shrub Dragon for the hundredth time. Emma reached up, secured both latches on the back door, and tested it. Confident it was locked, she went to the table and cleared the dishes. Kimber helped, and soon only one untouched plate remained.

Emma crawled into her mother’s lap. Her presence seemed to snap Mother out of whatever daze had fogged her mind. Mother brought her arms up and wrapped them about her. Warm breath filtered through Emma’s hair, making her smile and cry at the same time.

“Please eat, Mother, you’re scaring me,” whispered Emma.

Kimber crept closer with hesitant steps, glancing off to the side. Emma shifted to make room and gestured for her to climb up too. They sat quiet for a while, Emma staring worriedly at her mother while Kimber closed her eyes, basking in the glow of life with a real family. Emma took a piece of bread from the plate, and poked Mother in the lip with it twice.

“Mama, eat.”

Mother took the bread after stroking her hand over Emma’s hair. “You’re always trying to take care of everyone.”

Emma clung to her, resting her head on Mother’s shoulder. “I’m scared, too.”

Mother held them both, and sang a few lines from an old lullaby. It was almost enough to rid Emma of her fear. She had not hidden how she felt this time, hoping the instinctual need to comfort a frightened daughter would pull Mother out of her strange sadness. Minutes later, Mother stopped singing.

Emma reached up and brushed the top of her head. “You got crumbs in my hair.”

The fear had returned to Mother’s eyes, but the unexpected grumble made her laugh.

“Mama, do you think the Banderwigh came back already? Did it hurt Father?”

Mother helped rid her hair of crumbs. “No, Emma. Those things run away from adults. They’re only scary to children. Like goblins, cowards.”

Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m used to my Emma looking for boring explanations. Attacked by bandits, found someone that needed help, or maybe they got lost.”

She stared into the dark corner, her voice a touch above a whisper. “I believe now.”

Memories of being trapped in a cage that could not open, in a room with no door, and unable to reach Tam, watered her eyes. The burned girl’s laugh echoed in the back of her mind. Somehow, somewhere, that awful false child knew Father was missing and loved it. It occurred to Emma at that moment she had not done anything with the experience but bottle it up inside. She had to hide her emotions to protect her little brother. Mother kissed her on the forehead. Images of the burned village came back to her, and she buried her face against Mother’s shoulder and wept.

“Oh, Em…” Mother rocked her gently. “What’s wrong?”

Kimber held her hand.

Emma mumbled through tears, telling her about the cages and the dreams, about the horrible, evil girl, and about how scared she really was. Kimber hid behind the folds of Mother’s dress as the story unfolded.

“You were very brave, Emma.”

She sniffled, looking up. “I didn’t believe it. I was only brave ’cause I didn’t think it was real.”

“No.” Mother wiped the tears from her cheek. “You’ve always looked after your brother. You were strong for him. You’re smart, Em. You knew, and you did what you had to in order to protect him.”

She let her head down and closed her eyes. The gentle motion of her Mother’s breathing and reassuring whispers carried her off to sleep.

Emma awoke, still curled in Mother’s lap. It had grown dark, and without a candle or lantern burning, the house contained only the shapes allowed by moonlight. Not even Nan was puttering about. Mother slumped in the chair, head back and mouth open. The arm that had cradled Emma’s back now lay on the table, her other was limp at her side. Emma shivered and sat up, looking around.

Kimber and Tam had the family bed to themselves, and seemed eager to use up the entire area. Both were adrift in contented sleep. The rear hall carried the strange sound of Nan’s snoring, and one of the mice was on the table helping himself to the half-eaten bread. He froze as Emma moved. She did not bother trying to talk to him, too tired to think about magic. Instead, she smiled, hoping the gesture had some meaning to his little mouse brain.

The rodent zoomed off the table, crust in mouth, vanishing into the dark. Emma settled against her mother’s chest and closed her eyes. They snapped open at the sound of a metallic rattle. She gathered her hands together under her chin and shivered, curling into a ball. Drifting curtains sent shadows scurrying about, the fabric glowing like specters whenever it passed by the window.

“Mama?”

Mother continued to sleep.

“Mama!” rasped Emma, trying not to wake the other children.

She patted her mother on the cheek to no reaction, not even a shift or sleepy mutter. Emma curled tighter, crossing her feet. The rattle again filtered in from the rear hall. This time, she recognized the sound―the back door was open and blowing in the wind. Before any of this happened, she would have grumbled and assumed someone went to the privy. Now, she feared something had let itself in.

Emma slid out of Mother’s lap, seized her by the shoulders, and shook. Her head wobbled about, but aside from continuing to breathe, the woman did nothing. Cold air slid over the floor, making Emma shiver. Nan said I’d be old like her before it came back. She took a deep breath, and ran her palms down the front of her dress. Grow up, Emma. She ran to the cabinet to get a small blanket, which she draped over her mother.

Rattle.

Hands clutched to her stomach, Emma crept to the small alcove by the back door. A shelf of Father’s boots lay undisturbed to the right, several cloaks hung on pegs on the left, shifting with the gusts. The door flapped in the wind, creating an ever-changing shape of moonlight on the floor. She swallowed, unable to resist shivering. The door whipped left with a loud crack against the outside wall, giving her a second-long view of the privy before it slammed, making her jump and squeak into her hands. One tentative foot pierced the patch of moonlight, pale skin aglow. She reached out for the handle and took another step. Wind howled. She looked up at the roof as the house creaked.

Another step, arm outstretched.

The shaking door bounced the latch open. It flew wide again and clattered shut. Just the wind. She slid her left foot forward, teeth chattering from the frigid wood. Two more steps and she could reach the door. Groaning walls protested the air outside, but despite the solid wood, the chill seemed to blow right through the house. A shadow to her right moved.

Thunk.

Emma leapt away, back pressed to the wall among the cloaks, body propped up on tiptoe. Father’s shortsword, in its scabbard, had fallen over. She sank flat on her feet, feeling the warmth of a blush spread over her face. That was a darn sword falling. Grow up, Emma! She stooped to pick it up, leaning it against the wall where Father kept it. She took a casual step towards the door and grabbed at the handle, but it whipped all the way open and smacked against the wall outside.

She stared over pale fingers, ghostly in the moon, still poised to grab the latch. Too scared to scream or even breathe, she froze in place, waiting for the wind to slam the door. The winding trail of stones between the house and the privy made her remember that night. Cold wind passed through her nightdress, reminding her of the small building’s purpose. She pouted at it. The more she didn’t want to walk outside to the outhouse, the more urgent her need became.

After backing away from the door, Emma stooped, and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the shortsword. It was awkward and heavy, but far less so than the weapon her father usually carried. She tried to connect the feeling of the blade in her hand with her memory of Nan’s tale of Princess Isabelle. This thing seemed so unwieldy in comparison to the way Nan described the swordfight. The blade came free of the scabbard with a metal scrape that sent a shiver down her back and brought goosebumps to her arms. The sheath slipped off and hit the floor. Emma jumped, even though she’d expected the noise. With both hands on the grip, she held it out in front of her. What little moonlight made it through the window gleamed the blade pale blue. The edge glinted sharp and deadly. Father might give her a whack on the bum for handling it without a scabbard on, but she would gladly suffer it if it would bring him home.

Emma put that thought aside. Step by tedious step, she advanced over the porch, whirling at every shadow.

This is stupid. Don’t go alone.

She cringed at the freezing stones underfoot as she stepped off the porch.

Mom won’t wake up. She’s exhausted. I can’t bother Nan, and Tam and Kimber need to stay safe.

Sword held out, she crept closer to her destination, wondering where the warmth of early summer had run off to. When she was halfway to the privy, the wind slammed the house door with a crack that sounded as though it had shattered apart. Emma shrieked and spun to face the noise, foot slipping out from under her on wet stone. She sprawled in the grass, but leapt back up in mere seconds. Not waiting to hear a twig snap or see the Banderwigh come out of the dark, she scrambled up and ran to the house.

The door opened easily.

Emma rolled to lean against the wall near the door, putting her back to the house, with the blade clutched to her chest. For a moment, she breathed. Urgency drove her to action. She avoided the stone path, running through the dirt and grass to the outhouse. She leapt in, slammed the door, and flicked the bar locked. For a short while she stood, breathing hard. When she could no longer hear her heart in her head, she took a seat, keeping the sword nearby. Soft thuds accompanied her heels tapping the front of the bench. She gazed up at the cobweb-laden roof as the shack groaned in the wind. She went rigid; the strangest sense something stood on the other side of the wall, an inch of wood between them, paralyzed her.

She waited, blade held high, but nothing happened.

Emma stood and crept to the door, peering with one eye through a gap in the boards. Moonlit grass, a rocky path, and an empty porch waited for her. Her fingers teased at the lock. Her sense of being watched had not lessened, despite hiding in the outhouse for almost twenty minutes after finishing. Her legs hurt, her feet had gone numb a long time ago, and her teeth would not stop chattering.

It’s summer. It should not be this cold.

She cried in frustration, unable to come up with any explanation for what was happening, other than the monster. Father was missing, Mother wouldn’t wake up, and she doubted Nan could hear her screaming over the wind. If she made too much noise, Tam or Kimber would wake. She bit her fingers.

It wants Kimber.It wants me to scream so she comes to see.

Her fingers gripped the cold iron latch. In her mind, she flung the door open and there it was, waiting. She would open the door and it would grab her. Both hands wound up on the sword again, pointing it at the locked door.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, afraid to even yell for help.

The back door rattled in the distance.

Emma cringed, eyes closed. There’s nothing between it and my family.

She flung the latch open and burst forward at a full run. She slipped in the wet grass, flailing to an ungraceful halt three steps later. Her eyes locked upon the wobbling stripe of moonglow in her hands, the gleaming edge of the shortsword.

If I fall on this, I’ll die.

The sword tilted in her grip as she twisted it to look at her blurry reflection, her heartbeat slowing at the expectation of a shadow looming over her―but there was nothing behind her but sky. Emma held the blade out to the side, moving in a constant spin in hopes of preventing anything from sneaking up on her. Step by agonizing step, she crept to the porch. She slipped inside and pulled the door closed, watching Mother sleep for a few seconds before turning to lock both bars. After a test rattle, she took a step back and exhaled.

The board beneath her shifted from something else’s weight. Her heart pounded.

“Haveta pee,” said Tam, two steps behind her.

Emma whirled, leaping backwards into the door. The sword tumbled out of her grip as she clamped both hands over her chest and gasped for air. When the realization of what he just asked hit her, she shivered.

“Be careful.” He bounced at her, pointing.

She looked down. The sword had stuck into the floor, an inch shy of her toes.

mma’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on the blurry shape in front of her face―Tam’s foot. She scrunched up her nose and pushed him away. Kimber’s arm flopped over her from behind, the girl’s sleep-breath dancing across the back of her neck. The room was still dark. She snuggled into the covers, shut her eyes, and wanted this strange night to be over.

“Emma?” Father’s voice, distant and echoing, beckoned.

At first, Emma thought she was slipping back into a dream. She curled on her side, burrowing into the covers.

“I need you, Emma.”

The blurry bedding came into view as her effort to drift off failed. Emma plucked Kimber’s arm from her side and draped it over the girl’s chest before sitting up and rubbing her face. Mother still slept in the chair by the table and Nan still snored. Emma listened to silence, dreading the sound of a rattling door. A moment or four of being awake should prove the voice to be coming from her mind.

Father spoke again, distant, but loud enough to understand. “Emma?”

“Liam?” muttered Mother, a soft moan in her sleep.

The air seemed warmer now, as it should be in the early days of summer. She crawled out of the blanket and over Kimber as gently as possible. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, toes not touching the floor, but close enough to sense how cold it was. She stretched and yawned. Minutes passed as she fought off the urge to fall over backwards and pass out.

“Emma…”

Trembling, she slid from the bed and wandered to the table. “D-Da?”

Silence.

She spun in a slow search of the room, looking for anything out of place.

“Emma?” called the voice, sounding as though it came from the back.

Emma rushed into the alcove, perching on her knees atop the shelf of boots to stare out a tiny window to the right of the door. There was nothing in the meadow behind the house, not even fireflies. Her breath fogged at the glass; her eyes shifted side to side. She glared.

“I’m dreaming.”

“Emma, I need you,” said Father.

He seemed to beckon from the trees. His voice was too loud to be real, too loud to come from a man too far away to see. Emma shifted her weight onto her hands and slid her legs to the floor. She grasped the latch, but decided against opening it. Creaks and groans shifted through the house as the wind gathered strength. Cold seeped under the door and lapped at her toes. She backed away from the thick, frigid air.

Don’t be stupid.

She ran to her Mother, grabbing the dangling arm and shaking it.

“Mama, Mama, wake up. I hear Da.”

Emma pulled, shook, and whined, but Mother would not wake.

“Mother!” Emma pushed at her shoulder. “Mother, wake up!” Emma trembled; she could not understand how her mother remained sleeping. Fear and desperation overwhelmed her and she screamed, “Wake up!” and slapped her across the face.

Emma recoiled, ashamed of herself for hitting her mother.

The woman lay limp as a corpse.

Mother did not budge as Emma shrieked, stomped, and kicked at the chair. Neither did the other two children. The house was quiet, save for the sound of the wind outside, and her own heavy breathing. She darted to the bed, pulling Kimber up into a sitting position and shaking her. The girl’s head wobbled about. She let her plop back down and jostled Tam, going so far as to put her frozen foot against his back. The boy didn’t even mutter in his sleep.

“Emma, there isn’t time,” said distant-Father. “Mother can’t help you now.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she shot a pained look at the door. She could not tell if it was real or a trick. What if it is him? Does Father have a spirit animal?

After a final pleading stare at her sleeping mother, she rushed to Nan’s bedroom. The space was small, large enough for a modest bed and one chest of drawers. Emma launched herself onto the bed, bouncing and shaking the old woman. Nan continued to snore. Black-feathered talismans hung all over the walls, mixed with wooden beads and shining polished stones on cords. Any one of them could potentially be helpful, but Nan had not taught her much of anything except how to talk to a mouse.

“Nan! Wake up! Something’s the matter.”

Emma drew her arm back, but stopped. I can’t slap Nan. She fell over her grandmother, shaking her and clinging at the same time.

“The old one cannot help you either,” said Father, the ghostly voice no louder or softer than before.

“Nan, Nan, wake up! Please.”

“…returned. Magical sleep…” Nan’s arm lifted, clawed the air, and fell limp. “Too strong against someone so old.”

“Emma… I’m dying,” said Father.

Crying, Emma slid off the bed and went into the main room, wiping her face on her sleeve. She changed from her nightdress into the one Nan had made, feeling a bit braver and warmer for wearing it. Her favorite garment stopped above her knees, much shorter than the nightgown. It shouldn’t feel warmer.

Emma’s eyes widened. Did Nan put magic in it?

From the forbidden cabinet, Emma took both healing elixirs she’d helped make, stuffed them in a pouch, and swiped Nan’s dagger. A length of rope from the pile of stuff by the front door became a belt, from which she hung both items.

“Emma, hurry,” said Father.

“This is stupid.” Emma ground her foot into the rug. “It’s trying to trick me.”

Father whispered on the wind. “Em, please. You’re my only hope.”

She brought her hands to her face, covering all but her eyes. The desperation in the voice was painful to ignore. Mother did not respond to metal pots banged together or a half-cup of water poured on her. Emma set the empty glass on the table, and glared at the door. Her fright simmered into anger. The monster had hurt father, and it was doing something to her entire family.

“Emma,” said Father. “I need you.”

“Leave them alone,” growled Emma.

She leaned up and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I love you, Mother.” She went to the bed and tucked her siblings in, giving them each a pat on the head. “I love you, Tam. You too, Kimber.”

Neither child so much as moved. Emma gasped at how still the boy was. She grasped his shoulders and shook him, harder than last time. He had always been a light sleeper. Not until she leaned over him and warm breath caressed her cheek did panic shrink away to anger. He was alive, but something was keeping him asleep.

Magic…

Emma balled her hands into fists and glared at the nearest window.

With one hand on the dagger at her hip, she backed away to the alcove by the door. She lingered in the corner, watching her family sleep for a moment. The wind gave way to silence. Emma gripped the cold, metal handle and rushed outside before the dread of never seeing them again could change her mind.

An unrelenting wind blew sideways across her path as Emma ran through the meadow. Patches of winter chill mixed with the summer air, until she passed the edge of the forest and everything became cold. Once inside Widowswood, she slowed to a brisk walk, keeping her gaze on the vines and roots crisscrossing her path. She knew enough to avoid stepping on the more painful bad plants. Every so often, her father would call out, keeping her moving.

“Emma, this way…”

Father’s voice led her deep into Widowswood. Emma gazed up through shifting branches at scraps of starlight leaking through the pines. Small shapes she hoped were birds zipped back and forth. Each time he called out, she turned a little towards where the sound came from. The wind blew warm and dry, rustling overhead. Anger and fear seesawed in her heart with each step. A fast-moving shadow made her jump. She scowled at it, lost her nerve, and shied away from the darkness around her.

If the Banderwigh was back, it would have gotten me by now.

Emma’s concern for her father had led her too far into the trees to see her way back home. In the night forest, every direction looked the same. A shiver ran through her at the realization she could not go back. All she could do was follow a disembodied voice that might or might not be her Father’s ghost. If not the monster, what had put her family in such a sleep she could not wake them?

“Emma, please hurry,” said Father.

She startled at the sudden break in the quiet; the time between his pleas had grown longer and longer. The voice was louder now―she hoped that meant she was close.

“Da!” she yelled, breaking into as much of a run as the foliage would allow.

Her pouch of potions bounced against her thigh as she cracked and crunched through the undergrowth. A glint flashed off to the left, making her change direction, raking her hands through the air to clear low-hanging vines and branches. Strange shapes, rounded huts too small to be real, emerged from the darkness, as if someone had made a village for children. They tilted at odd angles, looking almost spherical with misshapen windows and doors. The area was too bright to be illuminated by moonlight alone, given the thick trees overhead. An eerie glow hung in the air, a nightmare into which she had walked.

Awful smells were everywhere, burned meat mixed with the stink of an outhouse at high noon. Emma slowed to a creep, covering her nose as she wandered among the squat dwellings. Her eyes widened at the sight of goblins, dozens of them―all dead. She stepped on something she thought was a thick branch, but it felt squishy rather than hard. She looked down.

A severed goblin arm.

Emma swallowed the urge to scream, backpedaling to get away from it until the warm dirt beneath her right foot changed without warning to cold, thick slime. She squealed as her leg sank up to the shin in the foulest-feeling substance she had ever touched. A tiny pit, concealed with a dusting of loose grass and dirt, held sticky purple ooze that squeezed between her toes. Shivers of disgust ran throughout her body. She flailed and fell, catching herself on her hands and one knee. The fragrance of rotting fruit and dead bodies washed over her.

“Eww!” she wailed, clutching handfuls of dirt and coughing.

A mass of tiny flies, which had dispersed at the disturbance of her stepping on their meal, settled back down on the jelly, as well as her leg. The sensation of bugs crawling on her, combined with the sticky ooze and the stench almost brought her dinner up. She tugged at her leg, gasping when the substance refused to release her foot. Emma hid her face in the crook of her elbow to guard against the awful smell, and struggled to back away from the hole.

She refused to shout, fearing there might be more goblins waiting in the darkness. Her free foot slipped over grass as she tried to push herself away from the gummy snare, leaving her crawling around in a circle looking for something solid to grab. Growling, she clawed fistfuls of dirt out of the ground, still unable to overpower the awfulness that held her foot. If there had been any goblins, they would have made short work of her by now.

Emma collapsed, out of breath and close to giving up and screaming for help. When she rolled onto her back to sit up, the dagger’s handle jabbed her in the ribs. A wide grin spread over her face as she got an idea. She wobbled as upright as she could with one foot in a pit, drew the ten-inch blade from its sheath, and held it in both hands over her head. After a confidence-building breath, she jumped forward. Her flight cut short as the glue held her fast, sending her flat to the ground on her chest with the dagger buried to the hilt in the dirt. Emma wheezed and gasped to recover from the landing. After a few hard slaps on the pommel to seat the blade deeper in the earth, she laced her fingers on the other side of the handle and pulled. Grunting became yowling as the foul substance peeled away from her skin, but she kept pulling, determined to free herself.

She lurched forward when the adhesive let go, and lay still for a moment, paralyzed by pain and gagging on her own bile. Involuntary tears leaked from her eyes; it felt like the goo ripped all the skin off her foot. It took her a moment to build up the courage to look. Aside from bits of errant grass and a thin layer of purple slime, her leg looked unhurt. She stood, easing her weight onto the tender foot and cringing as her toes unstuck from each other. The awful smell followed her. She limped, trying to wipe the stickiness off on the grass.

A short distance away, a boot that looked like it belonged to one of the town watch stuck out of a similar hole. She wobbled over to it, relieved to find it did not look like Father’s. She knew better than to waste her strength trying to pull it out.

Traps?

Emma looked around, now testing any patch of earth with a stick before she put her foot there. She moved around chunks of goblin, internal parts as well as severed arms and legs. Her last meal churned and flipped in her gut as the fragrance of dead things filled the air. A thought came to her as she made her way through the carnage, hitting her like a bucket of early morning river water. What if what she’d been hearing was her father’s ghost? Had their patrol found this goblin village and been killed? Was he wounded somewhere?

What if it wasn’t the Banderwigh? Oh, no… Mother…

“Father!”

The shout startled some birds airborne, but other than its echo, there was no reply. She repeated the call several more times as she explored the goblin village. Near a hut that still smoldered, a human’s broadsword lay abandoned. She ran to it and squatted, unable to tell if it was Father’s, or one of the guardsmen’s blades. Swords were never of interest to her, and she could not recall if his was different from the others. Tam had rattled on to no end about how much nicer Father’s was. This one seemed plain and functional―she wished for that to be a good sign.

Dread gripped her heart as she touched her fingers to the bare steel. The blade was unstained by green or red blood, dirtied only by a clod of soil. Several flies chased the smell and landed on her foot, but she did not care.

“Daddy!” she yelled.

No voice responded.

I’m too late.

Crouched in the dark, alone and lost, Emma covered her face and wept.

hat your leaky eye?” snapped a voice, high-pitched and gurgling.

Emma jumped, falling from squat to sit and wiping her tears. “Who’s there?”

“Mealy bits talks.”

She stood, creeping around the edge of a hut. About fifteen paces from where the broadsword lay, a goblin sat with his back propped up against a stack of firewood. Were he standing, the creature would have been about the same height. His potbellied body was easily twice or three times her weight. Uncountable wrinkles and swollen pustules covered his dark green and leathery skin. A leather sash crossed his chest, supporting an empty shortsword-sized scabbard dangling around a skirt made of animal furs. Green blood leaked from cuts all over him and one of his burlap boots was missing. More hair grew upon his eyebrows and toe-knuckles than atop his head.

She peeked around the edge of the crude building made of bundled sticks.

The goblin sniffed the air, licking at his teeth. “Mmm. Smell like eats.”

“I’m not food. I’m a girl.”

He laughed, spewing green slime and blood through rotten teeth. “Girl food gooder.” Evil gleamed in yellow eyes. “Sweeter is meat when it cooked scared!”

She cringed. “You’re awful!”

The goblin inhaled through an elongated, narrow nose. Nostril flaps puffed out with three distinct breaths. His voice weakened to a hissing half-whisper. “Smell scared. Smell tasty.” He clawed a three-fingered hand in a beckoning motion. “Me die soon.” He coughed. “Come, let smell tasty before go dark.”

“No. You’re horrible!”

She glared at the wounded creature, confident he couldn’t even stand. Emma inched around the hut into view, clenching the dagger handle at her hip. The goblin waved his head back and forth, eyes sliding half closed as he sniffed. He bit his lower lip, inflating a blister, tears of joy welled in his eyes as bony, green hands drew together.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“So sweet! Me not ever see such yummy!” He squealed. “Best than maggotberry pie!” He poked one finger to his chin. “Even best than cowhorn custard.”

The goblin struggled to reach forward, tongue thrust from his mouth in an attempt to lick her despite the distance. Emma cringed, halting a few steps away and yanking her dagger from its sheath.

“Hey!” He leaned back into the firewood, a trace of voice returned to his whispery rasp. “No sharp! No sharp!”

“I’ll not let you eat me. I’m a person, not food.” She furrowed her brow. “I didn’t know goblins could talk.”

The goblin grasped his cheeks, mouth agape. “Food! It talk!”

Emma fumed. She considered stabbing him, but did not want to get close enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a spear and put the dagger away. The goblin-made weapon, much smaller than human spears, was the perfect length and balance for a ten-year-old. She hefted the weapon, pointed the tip at the nauseating creature, and stomped over.

“No!” he wailed.

“You eat children!” she yelled. “You’re horrible!”

“Not want!”

She let the point droop, giving the creature a distrustful glower.

“Have to! Bigs too hard to catch.” The goblin offered a cheesy smile, shrugged, and chuckled slime through his teeth.

Emma pulled the spear back and closed her eyes.

“No! Begs. No sharp!”

“If you were not mostly dead, you’d be trying to kill and eat me,” she snapped. “Why should I feel the least bit sorry for you?”

Not that she would admit it, but she did feel a little sorry for the pathetic thing. He would have to make her much angrier to be able to kill a defenseless creature, even if he was a goblin.

“Me hurted. No danger.” He pointed at her pouch. “You brings magics. I smells.”

The goblin reached towards her again and she slapped his arm aside with the spear. “Those are for someone else. Do you think I’m stupid? You’ll just try and hurt me after.”

“Promises!” The goblin clutched at the leather weapon harness across his chest. “Promises, no!”

She held the point to the goblin’s chest. “I don’t trust goblins. Father said only barristers lie worse’n goblins.”

He grabbed the end of the spear as she went to shove it forward, but her lack of conviction and his advantage in strength made the gesture futile. For a moment, they played tug of war. Emma’s hair thrashed wild about her face as she struggled. She raised a leg to brace a foot on his chest, but leapt back with a high-pitched squeal when he tried to grab her ankle.

“You wants father?” The goblin narrowed his eyes. “Me having the knows.”

“What do you know?” She pulled at the spear, toes digging into the dirt.

He let go without warning, causing her to fall on her rear end. “Me knows where.”

Emma scrambled upright, jabbing at the air around the goblin’s head. “Where is my father? What happened here?”

“No says.” The goblin folded his arms. “Magics first.”

She glanced down at the pouch, at the healing elixirs she had brought in case Father was hurt. “He might be hurt. Tell me if he was hurt.”

“You having the pigs?” The goblin’s right eye widened into an amber pool. “Food’s food?”

“I am not something to be eaten!” She swung the spear over his head, more to vent anger than hit him.

“Does you knowing one pig from da other?” The goblin coughed up blood. “Alls sames.”

Emma trembled with anger. Her pity faded fast. “So, you’re saying you don’t know which one of the humans was my father?”

“Tasty smart.”

She shrieked and charged with her spear aimed low. The goblin wailed as he swung an arm sideways, deflecting the point into the firewood pile. Emma stalled in a forward lean, enough weight supported by her grip on the spear that to release it would cause her to fall onto the goblin. She let her knees go forward, dropping her on her backside into a roll. The goblin swiped at her, one fingernail claw tearing a scrap of cloth from the hem of her dress. Her heart pounded in her head as she sprawled wordless, watching him sniff and lick the tatter as though it were an expensive chocolate. The pleased moans and whimpers coming from the hideous thing made her sick.

Her hand closed around the dagger, drawing it while the creature was distracted. She stood up and took a single step before yellow eyes as big as her fist shifted to gaze at her.

“Wants father, gives magics.” The goblin put a hand on the spear, pushing it to the ground. “No sharp.”

Frustration, anger, and worry kept her silent. The woods chirped with the sounds of night: insects, birds, and the occasional rustle of something small moving about. Emma stared at the ooze of green leaking from dozens of minor cuts.

“Promises. Give magics, me gives father. Me no cooks.”

“You just tried to grab me!”

“Closes. Too tasty. Hads to. Me not promises then.”

She squeezed the dagger handle. “Y-you w-won’t cook me if I help you?”

“Food having the knowing!”

She scowled. “I am not food!”

Her scream echoed through the trees, but made the goblin chuckle. Pea-green blood leaked around teeth the color of moldy butter.

“Wants your bigs? Yes?”

Emma reached a hand into the pouch, grasping one of the two flasks. Against her instincts, she took a step closer. The goblin’s eye twitched. Drool leaked from the corner of a widening smile. Another step. The goblin lunged forward, grabbing her with man-sized hands that looked out of place on such small arms. He pinned her elbows to her sides and lifted her on tiptoe.

“Me gots!”

“Y-you’re not really hurt!” Emma screamed and squirmed, her kicks only made him laugh louder. “You said you wouldn’t cook me.”

“Me won’ts.” He pulled her closer so she couldn’t kick, and wiped his nose across her chest to inhale her scent. The shudder of joy through his body made her heave. His eyes gleamed as they flared open. “Me eats raw.”

“You promised!”

He lifted her off the ground, bouncing her like a favored treat. “Goblin promise!”

She writhed, kicking at his legs. “You lied!”

The yellow grin widened. “Goblin promise!”

Emma grunted and gasped, unable to wriggle out of the creature’s grip. He was as strong as Father, perhaps stronger, and his claw-like fingernails came close to drawing blood at the small of her back. Twice, she tried to stab him in the belly with the dagger still in her right hand, but could not reach. The goblin looked around, trying to figure out how to stand without letting go of her.

“Help!” she yelled.

The goblin cackled and tried to lick her face. Emma leaned back as far as she could. She couldn’t get her foot up to push him away, and had nowhere to go. Dread won over disgust and she swung her head forward, smashing the flailing tongue against the goblin’s four remaining teeth. She wanted nothing more than to wipe the horrid slime off her forehead, but he kept her arms pinned. The goblin wobbled, dazed. He let loose an eerie howl, trying to pull his tongue off the fang now sticking through it. A single tear ran down his rough, green cheek as he strained. At long last, the writhing tongue popped loose and he sagged with relief. More green blood leaked out of his mouth. After two breaths, a terrifying anger warped his face.

“Now me eats legs first! Makes food watch!”

Emma wrenched herself to the left, stabbing across her chest to put an inch of blade in the creature’s forearm. He yelped and let go with that hand. She landed on her feet, and tried to pull away. The goblin held on, squeezing so hard she expected her arm to snap. She swapped the knife to her free hand and slashed in wild strokes at the huge hand still gripping her from armpit to elbow. The goblin recoiled in time to avoid a cut. She traded the dagger back to her right, backpedaling while using her dress to wipe tongue-slime from her forehead.

With a gurgling roar, the goblin grabbed the spear and lumbered upright. Emma backed up, casting hesitant glances at the ground. In the span of three steps, she became more afraid of stepping in another glue trap with a live goblin nearby than the idea of trying to kill one. He wasn’t any taller than Rydh Cooper, and she’d thumped him good. Emma glanced at the dagger. Killing was a lot different from thumping, but the goblin wasn’t giving her much choice. She wanted to run, but one misplaced step in a glue snare would be the end of her.

She held her ground, holding the trembling knife out to the side. Her body shook, her mouth went dry, and the sound of her breathing drowned out the goblin’s yowls. The urge to call for Father tightened the lump in her throat, but it gave her an idea. She took a deep breath and let out a lupine howl that sounded like a wounded pup.

The goblin raised the spear, tilting his head in confusion at her sudden aggressive pose. He smiled, and came storming up to her in an ungainly waddle, teeth bared and spear raised.

“Me likes stupid foods. No have ta runs.”

Emma’s toes gripped the dirt; she stared at the tip of the spear moving toward her. She’d let it swing first, duck, and get in close, like Father taught the guards. Her knuckles turned white on the dagger handle. She stopped breathing as it came within striking distance. At the last second before Emma flung herself into a desperate attack, a look of complete dread washed over the pudgy menace and the goblin’s skin went from green to grey. The spear clattered to the ground as he flailed his arms in an effort to shield his face. After a wheeze, his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over backwards.

Emma glanced at her dagger with a raised eyebrow. If not for the change of color, she would have thought the creature’s inexplicable collapse another “goblin promise.” She crept closer and poked him with her toe. The body was cold.

Dead.

Widowswood had gone quiet. Not a single bird or cricket chirped.

“Emma,” said Father, right behind her.

Something was wrong. The voice wasn’t right. Too slow, too deep, too cruel. She squeezed and released the dagger’s leather-wrapped handle. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Her hair slid over her shoulders as she turned and stared up into the glowing eyes of the Banderwigh.

oosebumps crept over Emma’s arms as she backed away from the silhouette of a shaggy man, taller than Father, face shadowed save for two hollow eyes of pale amber. The only other color on the figure was the silver-blue head of a giant two-handed axe strapped to its back. Old and weathered, the wooden handle looked like a thick tree branch, worn polished by many years of use.

Emma glanced at her dagger, and put it back in the sheath hanging from the rope around her waist. It wouldn’t help. She stood as firm as her shivering body could, amazed at herself for the show of courage.

“I’m not afraid of you. You won’t make me sad.”

The Banderwigh slung its axe from its back, shining blade swinging past the ground with a heavy whoosh as it sailed in an arc, caught by its other hand. Emma could not help but stare at the gleaming metal. He held the weapon sideways across his waist, knuckles creaking, and took a step closer.

“I won’t let you hurt my family!” Emma leaned toward him, trying to project anger. “Stop making them sleep!”

Cold surrounded the once-man, a biting chill drawing all warmth from everything within an arm’s length. He stopped close enough for her to feel it, and looked down at her.

“I know you won’t hurt me. You just want to eat my sadness.” Emma pointed at his face. “Go away!”

The first noise he made started indistinct from the wind, but grew into a howl of pure hatred. He reared back, raising the axe. Emma’s courage faltered―she scrambled away. Fury ripped the air, a cry that chased birds from trees all around them. She shrieked and flung herself to the ground.

Skiff.

Emma shuddered at the reflection of her face on the mirror that appeared embedded in the dirt four inches from her nose. The scent of moist dirt filled her nostrils as her breaths fogged on the side of the huge axe. She flattened her palms on the ground, not moving until the shiny blade pulled away, rising into the air with clods of dirt falling from the sides. Emma rolled over, crawling through mulch, too panicked to stand. A loud crack followed another ponderous whoosh, announcing the death of a small tree inches behind her.

“Eep!” She rolled over into a half-sit, pointing. “Y-you’re j-just t-trying to scare―”

Her words became screams. She jumped back as he slammed the axe into the ground between her knees.

She put a hand over her heart, where the blade would have landed if she had not moved. The Banderwigh grunted; the obvious effort taken to dislodge the weapon from the ground was the last clue she needed. He did not want to abduct her.

He wanted revenge.

Her backwards crabwalk turned into a crawl as she flipped over. A warbling squeal escaped her throat as she gathered her legs under her and ran. She crossed her arms in front to absorb whipping vines, heedless of the threat of goblin glue traps in her panic. Emma leapt through small gaps between trees hoping the creature could not follow, but whenever she risked a glance, he was there.

Trees shot by on both sides. Twigs, branches, and pinecones splintered and crunched behind her, accompanied by the occasional grunt and swoosh of a blade. A faint nip through her trailing hair finally pulled a scream free from her lungs, and gave her a surge of speed. She hit a tree head-on, catching her weight on both hands and flinging herself around the trunk not two seconds before the axe dug into the wood. She didn’t wait to watch him wrest it loose, and swerved left, sprinting along the path of an inch-deep creek for a moment until the sound of crashing rushed up behind her, drowning out the sound of her feet splashing.

Blinded by terror, she swerved right, raced towards a fallen tree, and jumped over it. No air remained to feed a shout when she found open space on the far side. She hit the soft, wet earth at the end of a drop a few times her height, and tumbled into a logroll down a steep, root-studded incline. At the bottom, she curled in a ball with her hands over her belly, where a gnarled knob had found her.

“Owowowowow,” she wailed.

Dirt fell on her legs. She flipped onto her back, staring up at the top of the ridge where the Banderwigh had paused. The pain vanished as a new wave of fear crashed over her, and she dragged herself towards a three-foot tall stump, which she used to pull herself upright. A roar echoed through the forest. She spun, the sound drawing her stunned gaze past the now-empty ridge into the air. The Banderwigh had leapt, axe over his head, sailing at her.

Her legs gave out and she fell hard on her seat with her back to the dead tree. Tattered bear-fur robes awash with arctic cold surrounded her in time with a deafening crunch above and behind her. Emma slid forward, shrinking away from the axe, but winding up almost lying on her back. The blade had split more than halfway through the ancient stump.

The monster stood over her, his tattered rags surrounding her like an impenetrable cage.

“P-please, don’t.” Emma tried to will herself to move, but all she could do was shake. “Y-you were a man once. You’re not evil.”

Uncontrolled rage seemed to dull, and the faintest trace of pupils appeared within the baleful yellow light in his eyes. Emma’s terror became shock. Nan was right! She chanced a smile.

“It’s the axe. It’s cursed!”

She extended a hand to touch him, but recoiled from the painful chill, cowering against the wood.

The Banderwigh tilted his head as if it no longer knew what to think of her. She held her hands up, hopeful. As if wounded by her hope, it roared. Rage warped his face and devoured the trace of humanity in his eyes. He thrashed at the handle, attempting to dislodge the axe.

Emma flailed, scrambling to her side and up onto all fours. With splinters falling on her from above, she fought her instincts and leapt through his cloak. Frost coated the backs of her arms as the furs brushed her skin. Ignoring the burning cold, she sprang to her feet and sprinted in a random direction. The sound of crunching wood and growling grew distant. Minutes passed before her run staggered to a walk; her chest burned from breathing so hard. The forest here looked little different from anywhere else. Cloaked in the thick of night, Widowswood offered no clues as to which way was home.

Sweat ran down her face as exhaustion and terror wracked her with shivers. She reached out to grasp a tree, coming to a halt and leaning on it. I should hide. With a stifled grunt, she pushed off and trudged. Her legs ached and her feet hurt, but she forced herself onward. A clearing by a hollow log contained the remnants of an abandoned campfire, long burned out. A small pack sat propped up against the fetid wood. The dead tree was large enough for her to fit inside and seemed as good a place as any to seek shelter. Emma fell to her knees by the leather satchel and opened it to find a waterskin embedded in a mass of bug-infested rations. She brushed maggots and beetles away from the leather as she lifted it out of the foul-smelling ooze.

Whatever the food had been, it was so far gone she could not tell if it had been grain or meat. She uncorked the waterskin and sniffed, jerking her face away from the off-putting fragrance. As parched as she was, she knew whatever was in there would make her sick. Still, the tainted water was useful enough to wash the sticky residue of the goblin’s trap off her leg. With that done, she lay for a moment against the log, gazing at the stars. Too tired to stand, she crawled to the end of the dead tree and peeked. Termite grooves lined the inside, running among dozens of shelf mushrooms that also covered most of the outside. The fungus added an earthy fragrance to the wet wood. It was a far cry from her warm bed at home, but it would have to do.

Emma got one hand inside the damp mulch before the snapping of twigs startled her chest full of air. Two glowing yellow spots approached in the dark. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. How could she hide from a monster that just knew wherever she went? Emma forced herself up on protesting legs and scrambled off in an ungainly run.

“Daddy!” she wheezed, her attempt at a yell scratched out of her dry throat as a whisper.

The Banderwigh moved through the trees like a living shadow, unhindered by the dense growth that scratched at her legs and tugged at her dress. Her hands grasped at low-hanging foliage, tearing it out of her way as she clawed through the thickening forest. The hiss of an axe through the air made her swerve. A tough vine caught her across the instep, tripping her into a stumble that she barely prevented from becoming a pratfall.

Her body was about to quit. She could not keep running much longer. Maybe if it gets me, my family will be safe?

Emma glanced over her shoulder, thoughts of sacrifice in her mind. The look he gave her tugged at a survival instinct more primal than reason, and she forgot everything, even her own name. All that mattered was getting away.

The sound of running water ahead offered the promise of escape. Some of Nan’s faerie monsters hated rivers. Emma couldn’t remember which ones refused to cross, but it was more hope than she’d had a moment before. She ran across a trail, realizing it six steps into the brush on the far side. Skidding to a halt, she put her back to a tree. The Banderwigh was on her in seconds, axe poised. Emma flung herself to the ground as he swung, crawling under his arms and cringing at the resonating crack of metal on wood. A few seconds’ reprieve came as he worked the weapon free, giving her time to return to the clear path.

Without the hindrance of undergrowth, she pushed herself into a hard dash. It did not take long for the billowy black creature to fly onto the trail behind her. Thirty arduous steps later, the scent of water pulled her off the path. She whined as she strained, unsure if she would make it to the river’s edge before she passed out.

Ylithir help me!

No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than her next step found nothing but air. Emma shrieked as she crashed chest-first into the far side of a four-foot wide hole, the momentum of her run carrying her across. Fingers scrabbled uselessly through crumbling soil, and she slid into the dark.

The Banderwigh’s glowing eyes appeared in the hole, staring down at her―not that she noticed.

mma floated as if in midair. She knew her eyes were closed, but lacked the energy to open them. For some minutes, she did not try to move. Her body demanded rest, and her feeble attempts to deny it failed. Sleep seemed to come and go in brief fits. Something brushed her left calf, something furry and moving. She dreamed of rabbits and smiled.

Something scurried over her face.

Her eyes shot open to the sight of a cave ceiling covered in white strands. She tugged at her arms, finding them stuck and immobile. Lifting her head, she found herself lying on a massive spider web, arms above her head in the position she must have landed in. Six bright green spiders as big as dinner plates crawled over her, working extra silk around her body to keep her secured. Her head, hands, and feet were all she could move.

All the spiders froze in place when she screamed.

She stared down at the dagger on her belt, then up at her right arm wrapped in silk. Grunting, she tugged and squirmed. When the attempt to free her arm failed, she resorted to panic and thrashing. One of the spiders returned, baring its fangs an inch from her face. She screamed again, and fainted.

By the time she came to, the spiders were gone, but she was still stuck. In little patches, she could pull her skin away from the tacky substance, but trying to get other spots free got her stuck again. It was not as sticky as the goblin glue, but having it all over her body made it inescapable. Whimpering, Emma pulled with as much strength as she could summon, and got her right arm to slip two inches down. The effort exhausted her and she went still, breathing hard.

Twenty feet above, a round patch of starlight shrank as spiders repaired their trap door with webs, branches, and mulch. Emma clenched her jaw, straining again to get her arms free. Thick cords bunched about her elbow and wrist, refusing to let her arm move any farther. She gave up on her right and tugged at her left. She looked in the direction of that hand as she twisted and pulled. A previously meaningless lump of webbing shifted to reveal a withered man’s face. He looked like a skeleton covered by tight brown leather, face frozen in the shape of a final, terrified wail.

The trader’s friend.

She huffed and gasped, trying to get away from the corpse. Side to side she thrashed, pulling at her legs and trying to sit up. Driven on by mortal fear, several sharp yanks got her shoulders loose and she leaned up a little. Her arms remained stuck from the elbow forward. She pulled her legs inward for leverage, and wound up tilting to the side, staring down through the gauze-like haze. The spiders had built the web at an angle, fifteen feet above the ground. It tilted downward in the direction of her legs. She glanced up at the hole, wondering how many unfortunate creatures had found themselves stuck like her.

The sticky substance pulled at her hair when she turned her head, making her yelp in pain. A strand of web draped across her face, ignoring her attempt to puff it away. The answer to her question came when she looked past her feet at an underground cavern full of oval web bundles of various sizes.

Some had antlers protruding from the silk, while others looked like they contained goblins. Smaller ones, the size of boars and raccoons, were sealed with no indication of what was inside. She looked up at her arms, as far away from the dagger as they could be. Another round of squirming succeeded only in pulling her hair.

Her struggles came to an end as she caught sight of a thread of silk climbing the wall to a cave opening three feet above the top of the circular web, vibrating with the resonance of her attempt to free herself. Eight green spots lit with an eerie glow. Spiders feel the web moving… That’s how they know they caught a bug.

A form from her worst nightmare stuck four green-furred legs out of the hole and pulled itself into the weak moonlight. Four more legs dragged out behind it, uncurling one at a time to grasp cords of silk thicker than her wrist. The web shuddered, bouncing her in place as the monstrous spider ambled sideways in a wide circle. It was the largest she had ever seen, with a body as big as a draft horse. Blind with terror, she rocked back and forth, kicking and thrashing. Screaming gave way to sobbing and crying out for her father.

Fur brushed the toes of her right foot and brought her still as a corpse. Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at it, whimpering. Fangs longer than a shortsword hovered over her, dripping with translucent green liquid. It swayed left and right, as if unsure what to make of its latest catch.

“Daddy… help,” she mewled, so quiet perhaps the spider did not even hear.

It shifted, leaning over her to inspect the silk holding her by the arms. She turned away from its underbelly, cringing at the sensation of silk tightening about her skin. Its most vulnerable spot was right above her face, but her dagger may as well have been on one of the moons. Her fear reached a point where it gave way to calm. As the spider tended to her other arm, securing her to the web, she wondered why the Banderwigh had not taken advantage of her helplessness.

Was it afraid of spiders too? The ridiculousness of the thought made her laugh.

The sudden burst of noise startled the immense spider, and it scurried back to hiss in her face. She screamed, shut her eyes, and strained to get away from it. The hiss faded to a bubbling rasp. It backed up, drew silk from its spinneret, and set to weaving sticky ropes around her midsection.

It’s going to wrap me up!

“Daddy!” she shrieked, again startling the creature.

It can hear me.

Any progress she had made in freeing herself was gone; now she felt more immobile than before. It would not take long before it would start adding more silk to cover her entire body. She screamed at it, trying her best to roar. It jumped and raised its fangs, but calmed when the sound was not followed by an attack.

It knows I can’t move. Her jaw dropped. Is it smart?

She swallowed hard and tried to find enough calm to speak. “S-Strix…” She coughed. “Strixian, give me the wildkin whisper!”

If ever in her life she wanted anything, this was it.

Strands of white energy coalesced in the air, twisting in a spiral that settled into her chest, giving rise to strange whispery noises coming from the spider as it wound silk around her leg. The odd sounds became speech.

“Sssmall. Too sssmall,” it rasped in a whispery, breathless hiss that trailed off to silence. “Won’t keep. Eat sssoon. Babiesss did not wrap it well.”

“Hello,” said Emma.

The giant emerald creeper whirled around fast, making the web bounce and sway.

“Speaksss?” It reared back, raising four legs and its venom-soaked chelicerae.

“P-please, let me go. I’m too small to eat.”

It lowered its legs to the web; a strange feminine quality filtered through the hollow voice. “You are in my web. You will feed my children.”

“But, I’m only a child too. I have a mother. H-how would you feel if someone killed your babies?”

The spider rushed at her, stopping with its ever-moving mouthparts inches from her nose. Wetness sprayed over her as it rasped. “Humans do slay my babies! I should drag your dry bones back to them.”

Emma cringed at the feeling of its bristles on her legs. The memory of the wagon covered in dead spiders, which had haunted her dreams for years, came back to her. She whimpered as the spider took little delicateness in lashing several strands of web tight around her chest.

“But, I didn’t hurt any of your children.”

“You think that mattersss?” It reared up over her. “My children did not kill humansss.”

She struggled to unstick her finger, and pointed at the dead man two feet away. “What about him?”

“Hisss companion killed one of my children.”

Fear washed over her in waves; she closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing even. The webbing around her middle made it hard to get air. “They said they were attacked first.”

“I do not believe you,” hissed the spider. “They have hunted usss for the all of exissstence.”

“Humans are scared of spiders. They run away from even tiny ones,” she whimpered. “I’ll tell them to stop if you let me go.”

The spider slipped to the side, circling. “You sssaid you are a child. They will not lisssten to you.” It shifted to appraise her. “You are alssso an egg-layer. Humansss do not listen to their egg-layersss, even when they are not children.”

Emma glared at it in shock. “Humans don’t lay eggs!”

“You are trying to trick me!” it hissed. “You have soldiersss and egg-layersss, just like usss.”

Her unconscious struggle against the web ceased, leaving her limp and out of breath. “It’s not true. The town elders always do what my Nan tells them. They’re afraid of her.” Now, I know why. She flashed a nervous grin. “Believe me, I can help.”

“You deccceive! You ssseek only to live.” It moved to gather silk around her other leg.

She did not even try to struggle. “Please. Let me go. I know how I can make them stop killing your babies.”

The spider pulled a strand up, wrapped it over her thigh and pulled it taut. It hesitated; eight eyes flicked up to look at her. A moment of consideration passed, and it resumed its work. At the point where it reached the hem of her dress, it wound silk around both legs.

“Wait, please!” Emma lapsed into sobs. “I can help you. They kill your babies for silk.”

“Isss that ssso?” The hollow whisper turned her blood to ice. “Than I ssshall kill you for your juicccesss.”

Emma snarled. “No. That’s stupid! I’m the only one that can stop them.”

“I do not believe you.”

She ducked her head back as its immense abdominal orb swung overhead. The spinneret yawned, a cavernous, pulsating orifice wider than her head. White lumpy things embedded in pale green flesh inside swelled, about to spray her in the face. Emma rambled as fast as she could speak, ignoring the thread of viscous liquid descending onto her cheek and nose.

“How many humans can talk to you? I can make a deal. I can stop them. Please!”

The white bulges undulated and glistened with unformed strands. Emma shivered, staring at it. Please, please, please, please. The orifice closed, covered by armored plates, and the spider whirled around. It lowered itself, face close to Emma’s.

“How can I know you will not sssimply run away and hide?” Eight eyes narrowed. “I ssstill think you are deccceptive.”

It took her a few breaths to regain the nerve to speak. “It is true I could run away and never come back. All I can do is promise.”

The spider leaned away, the whisper trailed off to silence. “I have heard enough of promisssesss. The green ones always promissse.”

“I’m not a goblin.” Emma raised her head, whining as the webbing pulled her hair. “I’m a druid. Uhh… I will be a druid when I grow up.” If I grow up. “Do you know the Raven?”

The spider stood taller. “Thisss one has heard of her.”

“That’s my Nan. I’m her grand… Uhh, I’m her baby’s baby.”

“Sssuppossse I releassse you?” It swayed side to side. “What do you propossse?”

A way out of the worst situation she could have imagined brought a nervous giggle. Emma tugged at her arms, shifting her hips in search of a way to escape the web constricting her breath. “I will come back once a month to collect scraps of old web and bring them to the humans. I will tell the merchant I won’t bring him more if anyone hurts your children. They are greedy and will not want that.”

The enormous spider twitched its chelicerae, fangs scraping over each other like sharpening knives. Agonizing minutes slid by as it leaned one way or the other, pondering. Emma squirmed and whimpered.

“What isss wrong?”

“I can’t move, and it’s hard to breathe.”

The spider’s reaction, uncontrolled laughter, turned Emma’s face red with anger.

“It’s not funny!” She whined. “I’ve had nightmares about big, green spiders since I was little. I’m so scared I’m not even scared.”

“That makesss no sssenssse.”

She cringed; the pitch of its whispery voice rattled her bones. “I thought you were monsters. I’m sorry.”

The largest emerald creeper Emma had ever seen positioned itself over her and looked down. “You will be our emisssary to the humansss.”

She trembled, her body rebelling at being immobilized so near to a creature so deadly. “What’s that mean?”

“Your offer. To trade sssilk. Sssay you will do thisss.”

Emma nodded, the only movement she could manage. “Yes. Yes. I will.”

Its great mouthparts stretched out and swung down. Emma held back a scream, closing her eyes and flinching as the web bobbed and bounced. The tightness about her chest released, then her arms detached. She squirmed amid the stickiness as it slashed her loose from waist to toe, and lifted her in its forelegs. A wail came out of her as it began to rotate her like a chicken on a spit and wrap more silk around her into a cocoon.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

It stopped turning her and scuttled down the web to the floor. “Sssorry. Inssstinct.”

The spider set her on the ground and backed away. She sat up, using the dagger to slice her legs apart and tearing the beginnings of a cocoon away, before plucking stray webs from her hair. After clearing her dress of as much webbing as she could find, she stood and put the dagger back on her belt.

“Is this the way out?” She went to leave, but stopped, horrified at the cave full of dead things wrapped in silk.

A presence next to her almost stopped her heart. Something hit the ground behind her with a splat. Emma glanced down at a large bundle of spidersilk next to a furry limb as thick as her father’s thigh. She gulped as she turned. The spider, now standing on solid ground, was tall enough for her to walk under without stooping. Within the glop of silk were numerous strands of long, black hair. What had a moment ago immobilized her in the face of certain death had become a potential offer of truce.

She stooped to pick up the bundle, which despite its size, was quite light. The feel of touching the sticky mass made every muscle in her back tense.

“Thisss way.” It prodded her with four legs, towards the cave.

Emma crept over webbing so old it was no longer sticky, like clouds under her feet. A goblin-shaped impression in a silken wall twitched as she neared. She yelped and jumped sideways, crunching into a dry cocoon that sprouted a bony human arm and a puff of dust. Emma gulped and moved away from it, looking down at the pillowy ground, rather than witness any of the horrors mounted on the walls. After quite a while of travel, the ground became stone and dirt and the amount of webbing diminished.

The great spider prodded her in the back here and there to signal turns, and soon she came to a halt at the entrance to a cavernous space packed with silken orbs the size of wagons. Before Emma could ask what was going on, the spider chittered.

“Come, children.”

A rush of fear made her light headed. Three caves led from the room, in addition to the one behind her. None of them seemed promising, and all teemed with sudden motion. Hundreds of emerald creepers crept forward. Most were as big as the ones she had seen before, bodies about four to five feet long. Innumerable others emerged, some as small as a man’s hand. The swarm rushed to within a few feet of her. Emma instinctively backed away, stopping at the insistence of four stick-like prods in her back.

“Be calm, child. Thessse are my children.”

The smallest spiders scurried over her feet, spiraling up her legs and over her back. She shuddered, too afraid to move, even to blink. I’m not going to be afraid of spiders after this.

“Now that they have ssseen you, they will not harm you.” The Emerald Queen clasped her by the shoulders and spun her around, eye to eyes. “Unlesss you betray usss.”

Emma shook her head so hard she almost knocked herself dizzy. “I won’t.” She traced an X over her chest. “Swear.”

One leg, bristles as thick as carrots, raised and pointed. Emma curtsied at the giant arachnid and crept towards the writhing mass of spiders. An ocean of shimmering emerald hair receded as she moved, parting enough to let her walk by before it filled in behind her. She dragged her feet, afraid to step on one of the smallest and anger them. Numerous egg sacs vibrated with a high-pitched sound that made her skin crawl and tightened her jaw. No spider followed her into the passage at the far side of the chamber. Once she was sure the ground was clear of little creatures, she picked up to a run. As soon as nothing green and furry remained in sight, she fell to her hands and knees. Realizing how close she had come to death, she threw up. When it stopped, she crawled away from the puddle and collapsed, shivering out the last of her terror. The spiders can talk. No, I can talk to them. They’re not evil, just defending themselves. Her shaking faded to a mild tremble in a few minutes. She sat up and took a deep breath.

“I’m scared of them because they might kill me. I can talk to them and they promised not to kill me. I don’t need to be scared.”

Emma rocked back and forth.

“I don’t need to be scared.”

Drips in the distance punctuated the silence every few seconds. Emma got as close as she could get to convincing herself not to be terrified of spiders and stood. After collecting the wad of spidersilk, she marched onward. The cave continued for some distance, flooded with a scent of earth so heavy she could taste dirt. Mosses of green, violet, and blue grew around the walls, studded with tiny pink mushrooms. She held her arms out for balance as she navigated patches of strange-colored jelly and gleaming slime. Clear rock was sparse, and she had to leap several times to keep from stepping in the unknown. At the far end of the rainbow cave, water collected in a shin-deep pool where it bubbled out of the ground. She squatted at the edge, gathering several handfuls, which she gulped down before wiping her face with the back of her arm.

It got harder to walk through the tunnel past the wet section, making her believe she was moving uphill. At the scent of fresh air, she raced ahead until she reached a curtain of roots. The darkness of Widowswood waited on the other side. Emma looked over her shoulder, face paling at the memory of how many spiders were down there. She faced the roots, shaking at the thought the Banderwigh was still out there, waiting.

Stuck between her two greatest fears, she could not bring herself to move. She peered through the hanging strands at the sky, wondering how long it would be until the sun came up. There was no guarantee the Banderwigh would not be out during the day. Every tiny noise in the cave made her twitch, expecting a spider. A twig snapped somewhere off in the dark, making the cave feel safer.

Poison fangs or an axe… what a choice. She exhaled hard. Standing here chicken won’t help anyone.

She grasped the roots, thought of her family, and crawled into the moonlight.

naps, crunches, and whistles echoed over the whispering wind. Emma clung to the pillow of spidersilk as though it would protect her. A short distance from the cave, she found a trail wide enough for a horse. The night sky offered little clue as to which direction was east or west, and she stood at the edge of the dirt path for several minutes, looking left and right. Soft and cool, the road was a welcome relief from the occasional painful twig or root gnarl.

Emma jumped at a crunch in the undergrowth to her left. She took two steps back, ready to run for her life, when a deer bounded out onto the trail. It stared at her, frozen for an instant, and scrambled off into the distance. Fear drained out of her, leaving her slouched and panting. A few minutes later, a glint of moonlight at the side of the road attracted her. A metal helm, bashed and spattered with dried blood, sat upside down in a clump of weeds.

Bandits.

As if creeping would make walking barefoot on dirt any quieter, Emma tiptoed to the edge of the road and hid among the trees. Bandits won’t bother me. I don’t have any money. She glanced at the wad of silk as big as a pillow. Marsten paid in kingscoin for a small fraction of that amount. A peasant family could live for two months on one of those coins. Bandits would kill for this lump. It’s silly to pay so much for something the spiders have lots of. Her eyes widened. It’s hard to get. The creepers are deadly. She had another shiver thinking how close she’d come to the end.

Her resolve cracked and let a few tears out. Between the Banderwigh chasing her, her Father missing, and being stuck on a web, she wanted to crawl into Mother’s lap for the rest of her life and stay there. Assuming, of course, that Mother ever woke up. Now angry, Emma pushed away from her hiding tree and stomped in a random direction. Her mind swam with worry. Should she stay off the road to avoid bandits? What happened to Father? Don’t make noise so the Banderwigh hears you. Why won’t Mother wake up? Don’t step on thorns, don’t drop the spidersilk, watch out for glue traps, and don’t stop.

Her pace had fallen to a slow, careful walk. She absentmindedly plucked threads of web from her hair and dress, shaking her hand until they floated off on the wind. Emerald creeper silk was as thick as twine, and far tougher than anything a common spider produced. She knew people made rope out of it, tough rope a fraction of the weight of hemp. Nan once said wizards used it for special robes, and she had rolled her eyes. Emma drew the dagger, feeling like Princess Isabelle after escaping the castle of the Mad Wizard. For a few moments, she swung the knife at branches or vines unfortunate enough to hang close.

“Tamrin Brae, Tamrin Brae,” she whisper-sang in a faltering voice, “went to the well one summer’s day.”

The Banderwigh will hear you.

She sucked in the next line, put the dagger away, and halted in place to listen for the sound of anything coming. After a minute of silence, she exhaled and ventured forward. Another deer galloped past, scaring her against a tree. Emma closed her eyes, for the first time in her life disliking the cute forest animal. Animal! If she could find a bird, she could ask it to go fetch Nan. But, what if Nan is still sleeping? An animal could still lead her east… Do animals know about east and west?

Feeling hopeless, she stumbled ahead, staring at the ground. The same tree seemed to go by for the third time before she stopped again, not having a clue where she stood or where she was going. A faint noise seeped through the wind. Emma held her breath to listen. It came again: metal, squeaking. She imagined an iron weathervane shifting in the wind, and moved ahead in a turning walk, listening for the direction from which the sound came.

Beyond a thick patch of trees, the forest floor ended at an earthen ridge three times her height. The sound of rusted metal had grown louder moving in this direction. For a moment, she stared up at the two blue and one green moons, bright in a sky of cloudless indigo. Emma gathered her hair in front of herself and pressed the spidersilk bundle to her back, sticking it to her dress like a pack. She kicked her feet into the dirt and grabbed at root bundles, climbing until she could see over the top.

Damp earth and pale toadstools bigger than her head filled her nose with an unpleasant musky stink. A short distance from the ridge, the ruin of a building was well on its way to rejoining the earth. All that defined it as a house was the hearth and chimney, and a rectangle of stones that indicated its former outline. Some rotting bits of wood remained in the shape of a fence, with a rotting, mushroom-covered plow frame still recognizable at one corner. The scraping noise turned out to be a fragment of metal gate swinging from a fencepost. Whoever had lived here was long gone.

Emma bit her lip and reached over the top to seize a fistful of grass. With a heavy grunt, she hauled herself up and over, crawling forward until she could go limp and catch her breath. A cool breeze picked up, carrying away the sweat that built up from the climb. She peeled the bundle from her back, gasping as it tugged at her hair. With the lump on the ground, she stepped on it and gathered her ebon locks in both hands to pull them free. Emma scowled at the iridescent mass of silk now stuck to her foot as she hopped. She plucked it loose and threw it to the ground, ready to punt it away for hurting so much. She remembered the bargain and stomped the dirt, growling.

The foreboding sight of the destroyed house brought back memories of the awful dream the Banderwigh had forced on her. Branches rustled in a sudden breeze, and the forest seemed colder. Emma grabbed the silk and ran, leaping the fallen fence and coming to a halt by the chimney. The hearth space was large enough for her to crawl into and it offered a place to hide at least from three directions.

She curled up against the wall of the old fireplace. The last time anything burned here was long enough in the past that only dirt and moss remained inside. Wind howled in the distance, though no air moved. The broken gate hung idle, sparse grass in the space that was once a home did not move. For no specific reason, Emma pulled her dagger out and held it at the ready, flat of the blade cold over her knee.

Eyes closed, she heard Father’s voice in a faraway memory.

“If you ever find yourself lost in the woods, find a safe place and stay there. Wandering about will only make it harder for us to find you.”

She nodded at the memory voice. The snap of a twig opened her eyes. She pressed tight to the stone, barely breathing. Anything friendly would be calling my name. With thoughts of bandits in her head, she stuck the spidersilk to the inside of the chimney, out of sight. Another snap in the distance put both of her hands on the dagger again. Emma looked up, wanting to trade places with the silk and hide in the flue, but it was too small. Tam couldn’t even fit up there.

Tam.

Despite her anger, tears streaked her cheeks. She wanted to go home, wanted her family. What if it was only a boar sniffing around for food? The incantation would let her talk to it. At worst, she could ask it not to hurt her, and at best, it might know how to find town. It had to be harder to eat something that could talk to you, goblins notwithstanding. That thought shed new light on Mother’s distaste for meat. Nan thought her silly, but for once Emma was inclined to disagree with her grandmother. Can wolves talk to deer? She scratched at her foot, debating the odd question to take her mind off all the scary sounds creaking and cracking in the night.

Wolves.

Emma felt stupid. She crawled out of her hiding spot and spun around, pointing the dagger in a circle. Nothing there. After a sigh of relief, she took in a great breath, threw her head back, and howled like a lost wolf until her lungs were empty. She did it again, adding a pleading tone to a second baying howl that echoed into the woods.

The two long cries left her light headed. Greyfang has to hear me. She remembered Nan’s face, smiling and wrinkled as she learned how to ask the Owl Spirit for the gift of the wildkin whisper. The magic of druids seemed like it only required knowledge of who to ask and what to ask for. Of course, not just anyone could ask of the spirits, but her family had the gift. How much could she figure out on her own?

She sucked in another lung full of ice-cold air, not noticing the drop in temperature as she cut loose with another lamenting howl.

“Ylithir, wolf spirit, carry my plea to the pack!” she shouted.

The dizziness that followed could have been from howling, but she believed she had done magic again. Taken by the mood, she dropped to all fours, sitting like a dog, and howled again. As the last traces of her cry echoed to silence, she looked down at her dirt-covered hands and feet and blushed. Anyone that sees me will think I’ve gone mad, like a wild girl that doesn’t live with people. She frowned. I don’t care. It’s gotta work!

Her teeth chattered. She stood, rubbing at her arms. “That’s strange. It shouldn’t be this cold.”

Crunch.

Dread fell over her. She didn’t have to look to know the Banderwigh had found her. Of course he had, with her making so much noise. The cold and the evil floating in the air left her no doubt. She clutched the dagger close to her chest, moving it behind her back as she turned to keep it hidden. Even though she knew what she would see, the shaggy silhouette with piercing yellow eyes made her tremble.

He stood at the gate, axe head all but glowing in the moonlight. After a momentary pause, he swung its weapon around and grabbed it in both hands, as he had done before. Emma took a step back. Dead wood cracked under its boot as he crushed through the old fence.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” said Emma, barely hiding the fear in her voice. “No more like Hannah.”

Strong dizziness pervaded her mind. The fallen house became a three-walled diorama with hanging cages. Tam, and two unknown boys screamed and wailed for their mommies. Kimber sat in silence. The burned girl teased Kimber for not having a mother to cry for.

Emma looked away from them. “You are lying.”

He growled, moving at her with unexpected speed.

She was ready for it, and leapt to the side as the axe embedded in the dirt. Her dagger came out of hiding and caught the creature unprepared. The strike sank inches into his thigh; the blade froze over in an instant, becoming painful to touch. Her grip held firm and she yanked it free, bounding backwards.

The Banderwigh unleashed a wail of anguish as he stumbled to a knee with a hand on the wound. No blood flowed from his tattered black pants. She gasped as the wound closed. He growled and got back to his feet, tearing the giant axe blade from the ground with a swing that spattered her with dirt. The hasty strike went high, allowing Emma to duck and run around it. She had seen her Father fight once; compared to this creature, he moved swift and with precision. The ponderous axe seemed to drag him around, as if the man had been a simple farmer with little skill.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said Emma. “Please… stop this.”

The Banderwigh glowered at her, slouching. Hope sparked within her, but shattered as the axe swung high. Emma dove left, somersaulting into a run. Behind her, the metal on dirt sound of another miss. He roared with such rage that it made her want to cower, filling the air with pure hate. A swing from behind made her leap to the right, crashing against the still-standing chimney. She flattened against the stones, unable to breathe.

He loped sideways at her, hauling his weapon behind in an erratic rush that betrayed no hint of where it would swing. She shot a one-second glance at the dagger in front of her and threw herself forward. The ten-inch blade sank into the Banderwigh’s chest before he could round the axe overhead. White frost raced over the handle, forcing her to release the weapon with a yelp of burning pain. Emma scurried away, rubbing her hands on her dress in a furious search for warmth.

The Banderwigh screamed in rage and anguish, axe drooping to the ground in one hand. He seemed unable to swing his free arm up to grab the dagger, and lurched forward, stumbling down to one knee. Emma ran to the side, getting some distance as the monster collapsed on all fours. Heavy, gurgling rasps came from him, the sound of a wounded beast. The air smelled only of cold, which seemed to freeze her nose with every rapid breath she took. Her mind searched for anything she could use against him.

“I’m not afraid of you! You don’t make me sad! You are not scary!”

His body shook as he rocked back on his heels and howled at the treetops. The Banderwigh released the axe and clutched the dagger handle with both hands.

“Go away! Go back to where you came from!” shrieked Emma.

Her confidence was short lived.

With a wrenching screech of metal on bone, he yanked the dagger from his heart and hurled it to the side. Grunting and rasping, he raked at the ground in search of his weapon. Emma ran to the axe, intending to drag it away, but stopped.

Cursed. Don’t touch it!Wait, will the curse work on a girl?

In her moment of indecision, his icy hand sprang out and seized her by the ankle. She screamed as he pulled her to the ground and dragged her close.

His left hand crushed her shoulder into the dirt. Ice crept into her skin, a numbness that spread down her arm and up her neck. His right hand grasped the axe close to the bladed head. The edge gleamed as it hovered over her defenseless neck. She stomped at him, able to tolerate touching the creature for only seconds at a time. He ignored her pummeling heels and stretched the axe skyward, animosity burning in its eyes.

She took a breath to scream, but instead howled, kicking at his chest and clawing at the arm holding her down.

Answering howls echoed from the woods. Blurs of grey, black, and white streaked across the clearing. The Banderwigh brought the axe down, but vanished in a smear of dark fur. Emma sat up, clutching her frozen shoulder and wailing. Greyfang had the axe handle in his mouth, rolling in the dirt with the creature. After three flips, the Banderwigh recovered his footing. The alpha wolf hauled the monster off his feet, spinning him in a circle. The once-man got his legs to the ground and wrestled with the huge wolf, boots trenching the earth in a battle of inhuman strength. With a baleful growl, the Banderwigh wrenched the wolf airborne and flung him to the side. Greyfang hit the ground, tumbling, and skidded to a halt, dizzy and shaking his head.

The Banderwigh rushed straight for Emma, but fell forward as Howls at Rain and Runs in Shadow each sank their fangs into a leg and twisted. Moonsong appeared behind her, nipping at her dress and dragging her away with such force Emma had to hold onto the fabric to keep the mother wolf from tearing her dress off. Stalks the Wind leapt over her, silent, and bowled into the Banderwigh from a blind angle, savaging at his head.

Moonsong stopped dragging her when she reached the fence line, and moved to stand between her and the monster. Emma rolled forward, kneeling next to the black wolf and clinging to her side.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into her fur.

Snarls and snaps mixed with grunts and muted thuds. Moonsong twitched, as though she wanted to join the fray, but held her station. Emma got to her feet, pawing at the wolf by her side.

“Moonsong, we have to run away.”

The animal did not react.

Dammit! “Strixian, please give me the gift of the wildkin whisper.” She held her arms out, concentrating on her desire. A faint tug of exertion came in time with the flickering white light.

“Moonsong, we need to run. It can’t be killed.”

The wolf glanced at her, head snapping forward at the sound of Howls at Rain yelping with pain. Her pup went skidding away from the fight, driven off by a hard kick to the side. Moonsong snarled.

“Go to him,” said Emma, patting her. “It’s okay.”

The mother wolf looked at her with apologetic eyes and seemed about to do it when Howls at Rain got back up. Greyfang staggered out of the weeds and raced in, taking the axe handle in his mouth again. His weight and strength dragged the Banderwigh to the ground, giving the others free rein to bite anywhere they chose. Wolves yelped, sounds that Emma now understood as cries of pain and the wolves’ word for cold.

Howls at Rain swooned over sideways, blood dripping from his mouth. Moonsong bolted to him, preventing him from rejoining the fight. The Banderwigh grabbed Stalks the Wind by the scruff and hurled him ten feet through the air into a tree. He bounced off and landed on his feet, but staggered.

Runs in Shadow backed away from another grab, snapping at the creature’s hand. The Banderwigh twisted his axe back and forth. Greyfang tried to yell something as he wrestled, but with a wooden staff through his clenched teeth, it came out unintelligible.

The other wolves circled. The Banderwigh glared at Emma, stunned and angered at her unexpected assistance. With a violent shove, he sent Greyfang sprawling to the ground and raised the unburdened axe.

“No!” roared Moonsong. A black streak of fur raced in, and she drove her fangs into the Banderwigh’s side.

Her attack diverted a beheading stroke into a severe gash to Greyfang’s chest. The alpha stumbled sideways and careened over. The Banderwigh roared again, reaching for Moonsong’s neck. The black wolf evaded his grasp, snarling and snapping her teeth. Emma grabbed one of the healing elixirs out of her pouch and ran to Greyfang, heedless of how close it brought her to the monster. She slid to a halt on her knees, gnawing on the cork to get it out of the little glass bottle. Metal on dirt announced the axe crashing down behind her. Emma’s arms shook, and she emitted a feral snarl and twisted the bottle. The cork popped free at the same time a heavy thud came from her left, the Banderwigh’s frustrated grunt mixed with a yelp of canine rage, trailed by the sound of snapping underbrush.

Emma pulled Greyfang’s head into her lap and poured the elixir into his mouth. She lifted his muzzle and held it shut, rubbing his throat to help him swallow.

“Emma!” shouted a weak sounding Moonsong.

She whirled.

The Banderwigh was right behind her, axe over his head. The pack was running, but would not get there fast enough to matter.

“No!” screamed Emma, shielding Greyfang with her body. “Why are you so mean! You wanna kill me. Leave him alone.” She lapsed into sobs. “Please don’t hurt the wolves. They were just trying to help me.”

Thud.

Gleaming metal landed in the mulch a few inches to her side.

Thud.

The Banderwigh collapsed to his knees, right in front of her. White spots appeared at the center of his all-yellow eyes, a trace of a human pupil. Emma sat up off Greyfang, who wheezed. She did not move as the ragged man reached for her and closed both hands around her neck. Emma shut her eyes, tears streaming down her face.

“I love you, Nan.”

Ice spread through her throat as he squeezed.

“I love you, Mama an’ Da.”

Emma shuddered, gurgling for air.

“…ove you T-tam… an’ Kim―”

The world seemed to spin away. Snarling neared. The Banderwigh shook from the impact of several wolves against his body. Her air came back, her eyes opened. Coarse, icy hands slipped from her throat to her shoulders. Growling wolves bit into his elbows and legs, struggling to pull him back. The creature’s face had changed; sallow and drawn, he looked like a broken man. Gone was the yellow in his eyes, replaced by brown―and tears.

ensing something different in the air, the wolves released him and backed away. Howls at Rain limped sideways, hackles raised in an effort to look more threatening than he was. The hands clutching Emma by the shoulders lost most of their strength as well as their unnatural chill. Emma slid a hand over the front of her throat as she fought to breathe, hoping to warm the numbness away. The breeze gave up its graveyard chill, allowing a trace of summer night to warm her.

A wheezing cough puffed frozen through her hair. The man who knelt before her had changed. No longer did he seem powerful and tall; what was before her now was a wasted and drained shell. Deathly grey pallor receded from a face with many more wrinkles than it should have had at his age. Sunken cheeks stretched as his mouth opened, frozen in a silent mournful cry. His fingers squeezed Emma’s shoulders; he went from holding her down to struggling to hold himself upright.

Emma stared at him. One tentative hand reached up and touched his cheek, finding his skin as dry as soft leather. Widowswood hung in eerie silence. Moonsong nosed at Greyfang who emitted soft growls in response. The other wolves shifted, ready to pounce on him in an instant.

Emma shivered. “Are you…”

“I…” He croaked and coughed, a thin line of saliva falling from his lip. “Do not know.”

She glanced at the hands on her shoulders, no longer trying to squeeze the life from her neck. More grey receded; he seemed close to alive.

“What do you remember?”

He leaned forward, and she clasped his arms to help him steady. “You… So much love for that animal. I saw it…” His eyes grew wider. “A shimmering light in the dark. It made me remember”―he slumped sideways, coughing up a blob Emma refused to look at―“who I used to be.”

“Nan said you were cursed.”

“My son… Ewan. He went into the forest.” Tears ran through the deep channels in his face. “He was not allowed to go. Ewan did not listen.” Wild eyes searched the trees. “I remember a horrible figure clad in rags of―” He gazed upon his tattered clothing and shook with horror. “No! What have I done? What have I become? How many have there been?”

He released her and covered his face, weeping.

Emma fed the second elixir to Greyfang. His injury had grown smaller, but he still did not attempt to get up.

“I remember a girl.”

“Hannah,” said Emma. “She came to town a few days ago.”

“I killed her,” wailed the strange man, breaking into sobs again.

“She’s still alive.” Emma took his hand in both of hers. “She is nutters, but alive.”

His weeping stopped with a belabored sigh. “I killed her spirit. She will not be right again. I stole her childhood.” The man shook his head, pulling at his hair. “I can never atone.”

“I don’t think it was your fault.” Emma pointed at the axe. The sight of it made the man jump, startled. “It has a curse that made you bad. A monster had taken your body.”

He raked his fingernails over his cheeks, leaving smears of dirt. “I… There were many of us. We had gone out to search, and we found the wretch. I remember believing he had killed Ewan. It killed nine men, but we slew it.”

“You took the axe.” Emma rubbed his hand.

“Aye. I took it.” He gazed into nowhere. “I can still see my hand reaching for it in the leaves. That’s the last thing I remember.”

Emma was quiet for a moment, reaching back to stroke Greyfang’s fur. Moonsong gave her an urgent look. She focused her intent on the wolf.

“I don’t have any more elixirs, but I can try the magic.”

“What?” The man looked up. “You’re making wolf noises.” He blinked. “Oh, please tell me I haven’t broken you too.” He reached to run a hand through her hair, but hesitated.

“No. I’m a druid… or, will be.”

He let his hands rest on his legs. “Can you talk to them? Is that why they came?”

“Yes.” Emma shifted towards Greyfang. “Uruleth, spirit of life, hear me and grant me the gift of life.”

Shimmering green light formed at her chest and spiraled around her arms into the wound. This time, she had the intent formed before she spoke, and the glow did not linger. Greyfang’s legs twitched as if he were running in a dream. The wound closed to an angry scab. Emma put a hand on her head, about ready to faint. Everything she had gone through that night had left her drained and weary.

“I do not think I can endure another.” She steadied herself and held out her hands again.

Moonsong nipped at her fingers. “No, child. I can smell he will live. Do not hurt yourself.”

She let her arms flop into her lap and glanced up at the sniffling man. “What happened to Ewan?”

The wretch’s eyes glazed over. A glassy rattle echoed out of his lungs; she could not tell if he was breathing in or out. “I… Cage. I found him in a cage. He did not know it was me. I took from him, but not for long.” He slid fingers through his hair, growling. “My own son screamed whenever he saw me. It broke through the haze in my heart. I let him go, but took others.” He bent forward, shivering and rocking. “It’s been so long, I should be dead by now.” He cried. “Dozens I can’t remember. Pain. I see a little boy and a girl a bit older.” He looked up, locked eyes with her, and glanced away. “You.”

“You took me and my brother. But I wasn’t sad.”

A smile formed for an instant, fading to a forlorn stare. “Yes, I remember. It hurt. The reverse of sustaining, you pulled strength from me.” He smiled. “I am…glad you saved yourself.” He held her by the shoulders again, coughing. “You saved me, too.”

Crashing and snapping erupted from behind the chimney. The man pulled Emma toward himself as if to hug her. She glanced in the direction of the noise, drawing in air for a scream. Most of the wolves backed away out of sight―Moonsong and Greyfang stayed in place. He reached across her back, patting her, about to pull her into an embrace. His expression was strange, as though he had experienced so much pain, normal had become euphoria. He stared with vacant eyes, unaware of the noise charging out of the woods.

“Your love for that animal broke the spell,” he rasped.

“I thought I heard her this way,” said a voice so deep it had to be Arnir, one of the watch.

Pine needles and mulch exploded in a flurry of flashing metal and gleaming armor. Father barreled out into the clearing, reaching through the air with his left hand.

“Emma!” His wide eyes narrowed to a vengeful glower. His broadsword flashed blue in the moonlight as he drew it back. “Unhand my daughter, you fiend!”

“Da!” Emma screamed. “He’s―”

Father’s hand seized the back of Emma’s dress, pulling her away. The man bucked and gurgled; steel slid past her face, plunging into his heart.

“―not a monster.” Emma stared on in horror as the once-Banderwigh wheezed and fell over backwards, sliding off her father’s sword.

“Emma!” Father fell on one knee, gathering her to his chest with his left arm. “Praise all the gods and their servants! I was so worried. Your mother sent us back out as soon as we returned. She said you’d been taken again.”

She continued to stare at the twitching man, blood welling up and out of his mouth. He reached towards her, gurgling.

“Thank…”

His arm fell to the ground. With a final gasp, he was dead.

“Why did you kill him!” Emma pounded her fist against her father’s brigandine chest plate. The leather-covered steel thumped. “He wasn’t a monster anymore.”

Father stood, hauling her off her feet. She squirmed and shrieked, trying to get away. He pointed at the injured wolf, gesturing with his sword at one of his men.

“Put it out of its misery.”

“No!” Emma’s piercing shout stalled them. “If you hurt Greyfang, I will never forgive you!”

“Emma, calm down. The animals are dangerous. I don’t know how you survived being kidnapped by that thrice-damned wretch and a pack of wild dogs.”

“They’re not wild dogs, Da. They’re wolves.” She sniffled. “They saved me.” She stopped hitting him and sagged over his shoulder. “If it wasn’t for them, you’d have found me dead. They saved me an’ Tam from the goblins too!”

“She’s delirious, Captain,” said Kavan. “Look at her, she’s about to faint.”

“The wolves were going after the goblins,” said Arnir.

Emma stared at him, sniveling. “I broke the spell. He wasn’t a monster anymore. Please, Da, don’t hurt the wolves.”

“Poor girl,” said Guard Filner. “She must’ve ‘ad one ‘ell of a night. So lucky to be alive.”

Emma shivered. “I fell into a nest of creepers, too.”

The men exchanged glances.

“That’s not funny, Emma,” said Father, sounding stern. “I did not raise a liar.”

“Easy, Captain, she’s…” Kavan twirled his finger around his head. “Needs to sleep.”

“Emma, if you got into a creeper nest―” Father couldn’t finish; mute, he squeezed her.

“Put me down, Da. I can prove it.”

Moonsong growled at an approaching guard.

“Stop them, Da! Please.”

Captain Dalen held a hand up in a gesture of delay. Haim lowered his sword, but did not take his eyes off Moonsong. Father let Emma down to her feet and she ran for the chimney, scurrying into the hearth.

“Emma, that’s dangerous. It could fall and crush you.” Father chased after her.

She reached up and plucked the wad of silk loose. She raised it to show them; it was as big as her body from shoulder to hip. All the men gasped at the quantity of it. She sat on the edge of the stonework, holding it up for Father to take as he arrived.

He turned it over in his hand. “What’s the meaning of this? These hairs…”

“I was stuck in that silk.” She shivered, and explained her bargain with the Emerald Queen.

“The girl’s gone loopy,” said Filner. “Thinks she’s talking to spiders now.”

Father waved the bundle at him. “And a ten-year-old just strolls into a creeper nest and harvests this much silk and walks away without so much as a numb leg?” He grumbled. “Watch the wolf, but don’t harm it if it remains quiet.”

“Yes sir,” said the men.

Emma sighed and slumped to the ground. Father put his sword away and took to one knee before her. He grasped her leg, shaking his head and cringing at all the thistles, nicks, and scrapes along her skin. Emma squeaked each time a thorn or splinter came loose from her; and then he repeated the process for her other leg. Out of the pouch Mother gave him, he took a larger bottle and opened it. The contents smelled like mint candy. Emma caught the open end with a palm, holding it back.

“What’s this do?”

“Your mother made it. It will close all the little cuts and keep you from getting sick.”

“Give it to Greyfang. He’s hurt worse.”

“Nonsense, Emma. That’s just a wolf. Come on…” He brushed her arm away. She leaned back, but he caught her by the head and fed her some of the liquid sweet. “Oh, don’t be difficult, Emma. This is medicine.”

She gave up and drank a few mouthfuls of a liquid that tasted like blueberries. In seconds, her legs tingled as if snow fell on her. Her jaw tightened from how weird it felt. All the little wounds closed; even the lingering soreness from the glue trap went away. Father put the bottle away and picked her up. She almost protested at first, disgusted by what he had done. As soon as his arms were around her, she clung and bawled.

“Da, why did you kill him?”

“There’s no such thing as monsters that steal children. It was an evil, twisted wreck of a man. I”―he shivered with anger―“can’t imagine what he did to that poor Anders girl. Did he hurt you?” Father noticed the purple finger-shaped cold burn at her throat as if for the first time, and swore.

“Da.” Emma sobbed. “He was free. He was free and you killed him. Why?”

Captain Dalen looked over the faces of his men for answers, but none were to be found.

oonsong edged around, never moving more than two steps from Greyfang. The alpha wolf wheezed, seeming aware of the need to stand, but not attempting to do so. Emma put up a half-hearted attempt to get out of her father’s grip. For most of the night, she had wanted him to hold her, but he had just killed that poor man for no reason. He seemed intent on keeping her tight to his chest in a protective embrace. She gave up, and cried on his shoulder; quiet sniffles the only sound for some minutes.

“Sun’ll be up soon,” said Kavan, as he returned from pacing the area.

“Aye,” called Filner from the area by the gate. “No sign of bandits or anything else.”

Father cradled the back of her head, picking a few strands of web away. He gave her a brief look, as if reconsidering her story about the spiders. Emma squirmed higher, peering over his shoulder at Greyfang.

“Your mother was beside herself with worry. There were no other tracks but for that man’s boots, Emma. They were around the house. We came right back out here to find you.”

She scrunched her face in a mixture of glare and sadness. “The curse let him go. He wasn’t bad anymore.”

Kavan drifted by, squeezing her shoulder. “Poor girl is exhausted.”

“Aye,” said Father. “Em, I’m sorry our patrol took so long. We went farther out than we intended and we didn’t get back until the wee hours. The back door was open and I found tracks. None of the men hesitated to come out here to find you, even after an all-day march.”

The men nodded at him, raising hands in salute.

She stared guiltily at the ground. “Thank you, everyone, but you were gone for three days.”

“Poor child,” said Kavan. “She’s had a fright.”

“Good ta find ‘er in good ‘ealth,” said Filner, triggering another murmur of agreement from the men.

“Da, it made itself sound like you an’ put everyone sleeping.” Emma mumbled through a tale of how it led her from the house by impersonating him. Her yawning and eye rubbing throughout made them react as if she had dreamed it all. “… but one goblin was still alive. It tried to trick me.”

“Goblins?” blurted Father, all of a sudden interested. “We cleared a goblin camp that was too close to town.”

Emma blearily described what she saw there. Kavan and her father exchanged worried looks.

“I thought you said you’d cleared all the tar snares,” said Father.

“Buggers play possum sometimes,” grumbled Arnir.

“Obviously, we missed one.” Haim shrugged.

“You really were gone for three days,” muttered Emma. “Mother wouldn’t eat. No one could find you. Not her, not Nan, not the animals.”

Kavan raised an eyebrow. “Three days? Impossible, the sun’s only just set.”

The other men kept quiet.

“Em,” said Father, brushing a hand over her head. “You are exhausted.”

Emma folded her arms. “You will see. When we get home, everyone will tell you the same. The Banderwigh made you get lost so it could get me.”

Something in the look she gave him kept his words stalled in his mouth. She set her jaw. He looked at the dead man.

Captain Dalen trudged over to the body, twisting to keep Emma from seeing it. “This is no monster, at least not in the sense you’re thinking of him. It was an evil man.” He choked up, hugging the air out of her and kissing her atop the head. “I’m so glad I found you before he could hurt you.”

Red eyed, Emma wept. “You didn’t have to kill him. He was trying to thank me for setting him free.”

“Well, he’s free now.” The coldness in Filner’s voice made her glare at him.

“Gonna take this back, see if anyone knows who he was. That head’s like a mirror. Might be enchanted. Sell for quite a coin in Calebrin. Will split it with the lot of you men.”

The guards grinned and raised their arms in salute.

Father stooped. Emma wriggled around to look as the ground came closer. Father’s hand opened, moving towards the handle of the Banderwigh’s axe.

“No!” She shrieked. “Don’t touch it!”

Emma thrashed with such ferocity Father had to use both arms to contain her. She beat her fists against his chest, wailing as loud as her voice could get.

“Da, No! Don’ touch it! It’ll make you into a Banderwigh! You’ll die!”

“Shh.” He stood and moved away from the axe, patting her back and holding her head to his shoulder. “Easy, girl. Shh.”

She quieted to sniveling, grabbing around his neck rather than banging on his armor. Emma calmed, whispering. “Please, don’t let anyone touch it. You use Mama’s potions; you have to believe in a little magic.” She sobbed. “Papa, don’t.”

Her eyes closed with the comfort of his hand stroking through her hair. She hung there, halfway between feeling safe and wracked with guilt over what her father had done. Now, she knew how Kimber must have felt. Father did things she hated, but she still loved him. Her contentment evaporated as his neck pulled away from her arms. Guard Kavan, the only man larger than Father, took her into a firm hug. Emma’s eyes widened with horror as Father smiled at her and patted her cheek.

“You need to sleep, Emma. It’s time to go home.” He shifted his gaze to Kavan. “Hang onto ‘er for a moment.”

An iron hug held her fast as Captain Dalen trudged back over to the axe. He stooped, reaching for the handle.

“Daddy! No! It’s evil!”

He looked back over his shoulder, shaking his head with disbelief. “Evil…”

As he thrust his arm to grab it, a loud squawk made all the guards except Kavan jump. Father, perhaps on edge from his daughter’s words, fell back on his rear end. A great raven sailed down through the trees, skimming two feet from the ground, headed right at him. He backpedaled, grabbing for his sword at the unusual behavior of a bird.

The bird glided by in silence and landed a foot or two past the Banderwigh axe. It spun about, flaring its wings and squawking at him.

“Nan!” shouted Emma, crying from joy.

“The girl’s delusional,” muttered Kavan.

The raven spun about, covering itself with its wings. Amid a swirl of ghostly white light, the figure grew into Nan, with the sound of distant rushing wind and a flurry of loose feathers. Kavan’s arms fell slack from shock. Father’s sword had made it only four inches out of its sheath. It slid back down with a clack as he sat there, frozen. Emma slipped to the ground and sprinted on unsteady legs, colliding with her grandmother. Despite her lack of a cane, the old woman weathered the impact of a frantic child without issue.

“The girl is quite right, Liam. I wouldn’t touch that.” Nan adjusted her sleeves and folded her arms. “Had you grasped that handle, you would have become another Banderwigh and killed all of these men.” She thrust a knobbed finger at the corpse. “He, too, was once like you, searching for a taken child.”

Father glanced at the dead man, moving only his head.

“He took the axe and evil got him,” said Emma, breaking away from Nan. She retrieved Nan’s dagger and put it on her belt before leaping onto her father. “It almost got you.”

Captain Dalen looked up at Nan, mouth still open. His arms closed around his daughter without thought, an unconscious reaction to the presence of a crying child. The men regarded the old woman warily, shifting around.

Emma shifted, sitting in Father’s lap. “Nan…” She pointed at Greyfang. “The Banderwigh almost cut my head off. They saved me.”

“It tried to kill you?” Nan gasped. “That is most unusual.”

Moonsong raised her head at Nan’s approach, mystifying the guardsmen with her lack of hostility. Nan crouched by the injured animal, one hand hovering. She muttered, too low for Emma to hear, and the alpha’s entire body glowed with green light for several seconds. Air carrying the scent of a cool spring morning rushed by, the wondrous fragrance gone as fast as it appeared. Greyfang leapt upright, nuzzling with Moonsong, who whined low before bowing her head at Nan. Father went to push Emma behind him as the enormous wolf looked at them and walked over.

“Do not fear, Father.”

She combed her fingers through the soft fur of Greyfang’s cheeks and touched foreheads. “Thank you.”

The other wolves emerged from their hiding places, gathering around Nan, who tended to their injuries. Emma leaned into her father, smiling and ready for sleep.

“Let us assume that this weapon is dangerous.” Father’s voice, so close to her ear, shocked her awake. “What shall we do with it?”

Nan sent the wolves on their way and shook her head. “You shall do nothing.”

“We can’t just leave it here.” Kavan gestured at it. “If it’s, uhh, evil.”

“I do not intend to, my boy.” Nan gathered her sleeves up and ambled over to where the cursed weapon lay. “You doubt it is evil? Look at the ground.”

The dirt beneath it had turned black, creeping ever outward.

Old hands waved through intricate patterns. “Linganthas, spirit of the wood, hear me. Send forth your power. Destroy this affront against life.”

Energy charged the air, though nothing visible occurred for several seconds. The ground at Nan’s feet bulged and split to reveal a pair of thorny roots larger than a man’s arm, which wrapped about the axe. Nan continued gesturing over it as the roots twisted and thickened, engulfing the weapon. The mass darkened from dirt brown to iron black, constricting and crushing until a deafening crack of breaking wood thundered through the entirety of the forest. Thin beams of white energy leaked through the seams of the writhing knot, followed by a blast of cold.

Everyone stayed silent as the lump sank into the earth.

Emma wobbled upright and trudged over to hold her grandmother’s hand. “Nan?” She sniffled and pointed at the dead man.

A leathery hand gathered Emma’s hair and pulled her close. “Do not blame your father, Emma.” Nan looked among the guardsmen. “Our kind can be monsters too.”

mma held on to Father as the men marched through the forest. The late hour and harrowing chase left her too exhausted to think. Nan, as a raven, sailed over them above the treetops. The old one had no patience to walk all the way back to town. Quiet from what they had seen of magic and curses, the other guards kept their attention to the passing trees, watching for threats.

Feeling protected and safe, Emma set her chin upon her father’s shoulder and let sleep take her.

“Em!”

Kimber’s shout startled her awake. Emma yawned as she stretched, still in Father’s arms, and squinted at the now-morning sky. The forest was long behind her, and home lay only a short distance away. Mother, tears in her eyes, came running up the road to meet them twenty paces from the porch. She whisked Emma into an embrace that forced most of the air out of her.

“Don’t ever do that to me again!” Mother tried to collect herself, but couldn’t stop sniffling.

“You beat the bandy-wee?” yelled Tam, as he ran circles around them.

Emma yawned, then smiled at her family. “He won’t hurt us now.” She frowned at her father.

Her parents exchanged a glance, Father looking somewhat apologetic. The remaining guardsmen bowed to him and shuffled off down the path to Widowswood proper. Kimber ran over and wrapped her arms around Emma and Mother.

Nan emerged from the front door and waved. “She’s been up all night. Let her be.”

“A nap then, or she’ll become a creature of the night.” Mother smiled, though her eyes still leaked.

Emma drifted in and out of sleep, barely aware of being carred inside, undressed, wiped free of dirt with a damp rag, and re-dressed in a nightgown. Kimber and Tam climbed on to the bed and snuggled close. She put her arms around her siblings and closed her eyes. The rapid murmurs of Father and Mother talking outside may as well have been a lullaby.

“Emma, you should wake.” Mother gently nudged her by the shoulder.

She forced her eyes open and yawned. Tam grinned, winked at Kimber, and they both attacked her sides, tickling. Emma squealed, flailing and kicking at the blanket before succumbing to a fit of laughter.

“It’s about noon,” said Mother. “Come to the table. Your father will be here soon.”

Still giggling, Emma slipped out of bed and looked around for the dress Nan had made. It did not lay draped over the shelf where it usually spent the night, nor did it sit folded on the shelf past the foot end of the bed. Joy became dread, her mouth hung open, and her eyes grew wide in preparation to unload a torrent of tears at the thought Father had finally had enough of her disobedience and disposed of it.

“Mother, where is my dress?”

Nan shuffled in from the back bedroom. “Oh, that old thing?” She waved dismissively. “It was about to fall apart… and it was too small for you.”

Emma sniffled. No. Nan… why? Feeling betrayed, she covered her eyes and sniveled.

Kimber and Tam exchanged a conspiratorial smile. They hopped off the bed and ran around Emma to either side to take their places at the table. She sulked down at her toes and trudged to her seat. Mother set plates of sliced cheese, bread, and what remained of last night’s stew on the table.

Father, still in his armor, tromped in the front door and sat at the head of the table. He flashed a broad smile, which only deepend Emma’s frown. Not only had he killed that poor man, now he celebrated the loss of her precious dress.

Emma folded her arms and shot a sour look into her lap.

“You’re going to light your nightdress on fire with a face like that,” said Nan.

Kimber and Tam erupted with giggles.

Try as she might, she couldn’t be angry with them, though she couldn’t understand why they were so happy her dress was gone. Emma lifted her sullen pout and took a bit of cheese to her mouth.

“There… you need to eat.” Mother patted her on the arm. “You’re safe at home, and I never want you scaring me like that again.”

“The monster made you sleepy.” Emma swung her feet back and forth. “No one would wake up, and I heard Father calling for help.”

“Monster ‘e trick’ yas.” Kimber shook her head. “Was nae Papa.”

“He didn’t have to die.” Emma nibbled on a bit of bread.

Father sighed. “I’m sorry, Em. What it looked like… I was afraid that man wanted to hurt you.”

“It is the way of things, child.” Nan took Emma’s pale hand in her gnarled fingers and squeezed. “The curse had drained him, and he likely would have passed away soon enough without Liam’s help. What is important, is that you broke the magic that had poisoned him. He walks among the spirits now.” She smiled.

Emma jabbed the cheese at crumbs on her plate, not feeling much better about what her father had done. “He would have died anyway?”

Tam and Kimber quieted, though they still fought to keep their giddiness down to mere smiles instead of noise and fidgeting.

“Perhaps days or hours, yes.” Nan let go of her arm. “The dark magic fed upon his very essence. Your father spared him an agony.”

Father looked at Nan as if to question. She couldn’t tell whether Nan was trying to make her feel better or spoke truth. The look in the old one’s eyes suggested sincerity, so Emma let it go.

“All right.” She ate a hunk of bread.

“Well now.” Nan sat up straight. “You can’t run about in your nightdress.”

Emma sent a forlorn stare at the empty bit of shelf, then frowned at the dress from the tailor’s shop. “Yes, Nan.”

Kimber and Tam burst into laughter. Mother put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile.

“What?” Emma looked at them before squinting at Nan, suspecting they had all conspired to trick her. “What’s everyone laughing at?”

Nan cackled, and pulled her arm out from under her shawl-covered green robe. She held a bundle of deep blue cloth, which she let unfurl into the shape of a handmade dress. “T’was time to make you a larger one, dear.”

Emma squealed and dove out of her chair into her grandmother’s arms. She couldn’t think of anything to say, and cried from joy.

Kimber and Tam piled on to the hug from both sides.

“Easy, now. Your old Nan can’t handle so many little bodies in her lap at once.”

“Nan!” yelled Emma. “It’s beautiful.” She wiped her tears. “You can see!” She looked down at the garment in her hands, studying an intricate weave of silver thread binding light blue trim about the neck, the ends of short sleeves, and the knee-length hem. Without a second thought, she whipped off her nightdress and wriggled into the new one. After twisting side to side to get a look at it, she beamed. “I love it!”

“She’ll be wearing it ‘till she marries off,” muttered Father.

Mother threw a bit of bread at him.

“Finish your lunch, child.” Nan patted her on the head. “You’ve got a lot of learning ahead of you. I’ve got to start the foundations before Beth has you making potions all day long.”

Mother stuck her tongue out at Nan.

Emma hopped on her chair and attacked her food. “Yes, Nan. Will you finish the story tonight?”

“Does the knight kill the dragon?” asked Tam.

“He a’ frozed!” yelled Kimber. “Pincess I’bell nee’ta give ‘im ‘a magic potion.”

Tam furrowed his brow. “When’s he gonna fight?”

Emma laughed a spray of bread crumbs onto her plate.

“Perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow.” Nan winked at him. “There’s always a story to be told if you know where to listen.”

“Nan, do the wolves like stories too?” asked Emma.

Her grandmother grinned. “Of course. Where do you think I heard them from?”

Emma laughed, but then her eyes went wide. How many of the creatures from her other stories could be real if the Banderwigh was? She bit her lip, unable to think of the forest the same way again. If the stories were true, that meant faeries were real too.

Kimber’s green eyes sparkled as she flashed a huge smile. Tam grinned and kept pestering Nan about Sir Steelsong the knight, and what sort of dragon he’d wind up fighting.

Emma felt happier in that moment than she had in a long time, surrounded by family. Kimber looked far different from the apple-selling beggar; she looked alive, wanted, and happy. The glint in Tam’s eye said he was itching to get into trouble as always. A surge of warmth radiated through Emma’s chest at seeing him back to his old self.

A small pang of fear sent a shiver down her back at remembering her deal with the spider queen. She’d have to return for silk in a week, and be around spiders again. For now at least, she put thoughts of giant fuzzy green critters―and Banderwighs―out of her head.

She was home.

Emma and the Banderwigh first came to be as a short story from a small idea. I shared it with a few people for opinions, one of whom grumbled at me that it was too short. So, I did the only thing I could do―I made it longer. Thanks Tiffany for the suggestion that more story was hiding in there!

To Julie Rodriguez, thank you for your amazing editing. This story is much better off for you having worked with me on it.

Additional thanks goes out to the team at Curiosity Quills for all their help and support.

Born in a little town known as South Amboy NJ in 1973, Matthew has been creating science fiction and fantasy worlds for most of his reasoning life. Somewhere between fifteen to eighteen of them spent developing the world in which Division Zero, Virtual Immortality, and The Awakened Series take place. He has several other projects in the works as well as a collaborative science fiction endeavor with author Tony Healey.

Matthew is an avid gamer, a recovered WoW addict, Gamemaster for two custom systems (Chronicles of Eldrinaath [Fantasy] and Divergent Fates [Sci Fi], and a fan of anime, British humour (<- deliberate), and intellectual science fiction that questions the nature of reality, life, and what happens after it.

He is also fond of cats.

Now that you have completed this book, we hope you will leave a review so that other readers may benefit from your perspective. Authors like Matthew Cox live and die by your reviews, after all!

Please visit http://curiosityquills.com/reader-survey/ to share your reading experience with the author of this book!

Fairy Keeper, by Amy Bearce

(http://bit.ly/1ySQq3D)

Forget cute fairies in pretty dresses. In the world of Aluvia, most fairies are more like irritable, moody insects. Still, almost everyone views the fairy keeper mark as a gift. It reveals someone has the ability to attract and even control fairies. Fourteen-year-old Sierra considers it a curse, one that binds her to a dark alchemist father who steals her fairies’ mind-altering nectar for his illegal elixirs and poisons. But when her fairy queen and all the other queens go missing, more than just the life of her fairy is in the balance if they aren’t found. Sierra will stop at nothing to find them, leading her to a magical secret lost since ancient times. The magic waiting for her has the power to transform the world, but only if she can first embrace her destiny as a fairy keeper.

Elementary, My Dear Watson Vol. 1, by Jose Prendes

(http://bit.ly/1znUIxL)

When 12-year-old John Watson is sent to Candlewood boarding school, he makes quick friends with a boy named Sherlock Holmes, a universally disliked know-it-all and amateur sleuth. Before long, Sherlock embroils his new friend in a covert investigation of the mysterious disappearances blamed on a vengeful ghost. Dodging the meaty fists of the bully Moriarty, and aided by bumbling patrolman Lestrade, they uncover a deadly secret hidden deep underneath Candlewood. But does the duo have the brains–and the brawn–to crack this dangerous case?

The Misadventures of Hobart Hucklebuck, by Stan Swanson

(http://bit.ly/1oJ2mPs)

Things are not as they should be in Pennywhistle. Enchanted toasters are not toasting, enchanted sprinklers are not sprinkling and Hobart Hucklebuck’s origami messenger birds are suddenly attacking him. Someone seems to be draining the power from all of the enchanted items in the village. But who could it be and why have they implicated Hobart’s grandfather? Follow Hobart, Specks, and Rosie as they try to solve this mystery, straying dangerously close to disaster not only for themselves, but the entire village of Pennywhistle.

Broken Branch Falls, by Tara Tyler

(http://j.mp/1dCcX7F)

Doing homework for bully ogres and getting laughed at as the butt of pixie pranks, Gabe is tired of his goblin life. When he and his friends step out of their nerdy stereotype and pull a prank of their own on the dragons at the first football game, it literally backfires, bringing a High Council vote to dismantle not only Gingko High, but the whole town, too!

The Book of Ages–hidden handbook of the High Council, filled with knowledge and power–may be Gabe’s only hope. With the help of friends old and new, can Gabe complete his quest to find the Book in time to save Broken Branch Falls? Or will he remain an outcast forever?

Appetizer:

- Book Cover

- Copyright & Publisher

- Title Page

Main Course:

- Chapter One: Out of the Woods

- Chapter Two: What Strange Things in Darkness Dwell

- Chapter Three: A Story Unseen

- Chapter Four: The Trader

- Chapter Five: Apples to Wine

- Chapter Six: Eyes in the Woods

- Chapter Seven: Nocturnal Urge

- Chapter Eight: Faeries and Monsters

- Chapter Nine: One Summer’s Day

- Chapter Ten: A Song in the Woods

- Chapter Eleven: Ashes, Ashes

- Chapter Twelve: Run Rabbit, Run

- Chapter Thirteen: Out of the Pan

- Chapter Fourteen: Between Fang and Claw

- Chapter Fifteen: The Child Saved

- Chapter Sixteen: Like Mother, Like Daughter

- Chapter Seventeen: Wild Spirits

- Chapter Eighteen: One of the Pack

- Chapter Nineteen: Siblings

- Chapter Twenty: The Tall Grass

- Chapter Twenty-One: Armor

- Chapter Twenty-Two: Foreboding

- Chapter Twenty-Three: A Plea From the Dark

- Chapter Twenty-Four: End of Misery

- Chapter Twenty-Five: Another Kind of Taking

- Chapter Twenty-Six: Not So Itsy Bitsy

- Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lost in Widowswood

- Chapter Twenty-Eight: Saved

- Chapter Twenty-Nine: Broken

- Chapter Thirty: Faerie Stories

Dessert:

- Acknowledgments

- Thank You for Reading

- About the Author

- More from Curiosity Quills Press