She cried louder as a response. “Promise?” I insisted.
A nod of her head was all I needed as I loosened the tension and allowed the woman to withdraw from the forced tight embrace. She dropped to the floor, sobbing loudly, her spirit broken, and I immediately kneeled with her, ashamed of what I had to do to calm her down.
“It’s alright, I mean no harm,” I insisted and gently caressed her hair.
Suddenly, the monster inside of her came into power. Searing pain gushed from my abdomen. During the second I took to show her kindness and offer my remorse, she lunged and stabbed me.
“Demon!” I hissed as she made her escape through the kitchen. The vile creature had used the dagger to hurt me.Stabbed twice on your first day. And the Keeper of the year award goes to…Trapped in pain, I headed into the bathroom, found a small vial of dracaena essence and shoved it into my pocket, then headed outside, leaving a trail of blood behind me as I disappeared into nothing.
I heard the woman’s steps struggling to feel the darkness around her and find her way. She was as subtle as a tornado, making tons of noises and waking up every single creature in the woods. Maybe it would be best to leave her to fend for herself and be torn apart by a wild animal. I analysed my options for a few moments until I remembered that she had been promised as a human sacrifice so her blood could not be spilled until the next moon cycle. “There you go with that goddess damned noise again,” I uttered while the human retook her shouting streak at the sight of me.
Running out of patience and gentleness, I secured her by the neck and leaned her backwards, forcing her mouth open, then reached for the vial in my pocket and poured the entire content into her mouth, covering it to make sure she swallowed.
It took her two seconds to faint, her shape falling into my arms, and I used the last of my energy to walk with her to the old mansion. Some pixies and heltijas awaited around the house, awakened by the horrid noises of the human.
I placed her onto the entrance steps, grabbing my stomach, surprised to find it leaking dark blood.
“Can you make sure she is inside and safe?” I asked, grimacing in pain as I pressed a hand over the stab wound.
The faeries nodded and took the woman, carrying her inside. I thanked them and started limping back home, the woman now safe in the hands of my subjects. Good riddance.
Chapter Seven
“Release her!” the voice echoed in my dreams as I shook with memories of lingering pain. “Release her!” he had said. I hazily recalled the man inside the old willow and his dark, menacing voice. Different from the one who stood in front of me and used his own body to protect me from harm. Had I got it all wrong? Did the man try to save me? I forced my mind to recall as many details as I could, but my brain refused to connect the images and sounds. As I struggled through my memory path, I could not resist the fatigue claiming my muscles and fell asleep, unable to piece the events in cohesive order.The next morning, I woke up recovering from the soreness of the past few days.
“It is Saturday,” I confirmed with the laptop, an action I would do for the remaining days I had to spend in this place. What in the name of all the saints was happening here? The sun took its own path. Nature seemed to stop working only inside these coordinates and strange men were lurking about, in a place that was supposed to be protected and safeguarded from the outside world. As the day passed, every hour added to the strangeness of the place, one that I found myself trapped in, incapable of understanding my purpose or mission in these woods.
Two hours later, I stood in front of the door, ready to go outside and confront the possible abuser, decided on finding the man. I got ready this time, I packed cold water and a small hunting knife I had found abandoned in the cupboard, the pepper spray my dad insisted I brought ‘just in case’ and a smaller knife, wrapped in a sheath which I kept closely stored in my legging’s pocket. Summoning an urge of courage through a few deep breaths, I closed the door, making sure I locked up and placed the keys in the other pocket. I tried to remember which way my steps took me last time and instinctively headed towards the path I would have taken then, walking at a steady pace, looking around for any signs of... anything.
I searched until dusk claimed the sky, and I did not find a sign, not even a footmark or a willow. It looked like the forest completely changed. New species had regrown overnight, covering anything I might have left behind. It was pointless; I felt like I had been running around in circles and unfortunately; I did not think about packing food, so I was starving. The cold water I had at midday turned into a mild tea, impossible to satiate me in this hot weather. Accepting defeat, I decided to head back home, excited for the icy cold water, frozen drinks and ice cream waiting in the fridge.
An abrupt noise pierced my ears. It sounded like a whisper at first, but the closer I got the clearer it became, some kind of stream must be nearby, I heard the sound of running water tinting the air. Excited, I hurried my pace towards the sound; I knew rivers filtered water, so they were safe to drink from, and I couldn’t wait to refill my water bottle and indulge in the refreshing liquid.
As I approached, a deep line of trees materialised, different from anything I had ever seen. Impossibly tall with thick trunks, these trees carried their leaves in undulating shapes. Each part of the foliage was a snowflake and had its own identity and memory. The stems looked atypical; they glimmered a shade of turquoise, as though the light pouring in the nearby water had been absorbed and reflected onto them.
I stepped closer, surrendered in admiration when I spotted an odd shape that caught my attention. Something hung from one of the wider branches. Clothes. A man’s clothes. My body tensed, I immediately grabbed the backpack and opened the zipper to seize the pepper spray and pulled the small dagger from my pocket. A weapon in each hand, I stepped closer to where the clothes were splayed onto the tall branches.
I did not understand it, yet my stomach twisted at the scent. It felt familiar. Orange and a fresh smell of rain filled my nostrils. A primordial memory, which part of me unconsciously carried, made my heart palpitate at the recognition. Whatever feeling my inner self experienced, I did not recognise.
I sensed his closeness, the trail of the unknown, yet familiar scent he left behind, drifting from the river. Following the calling that pulled on my senses, I walked toward the stream, weary of making any noises, and froze. There he was, the man I had seen earlier, bathing in the river without a care in the world.
Chapter Eight
I loved the sanctuary of Cloutie trees; I had discovered the blooming ones by the river earlier in the morning and, after performing the duties of the day, I invoked their healing powers and had a swim in the river while my wounds healed.
The first time I needed a Cloutie tree was when I broke my leg at age five. Damaris tricked me into thinking that I could summon wings if I swallowed a butterfly. I held vague memories of climbing in the tower with both my brothers and being handed a jar with a pink butterfly struggling to spread its wings inside. Then I remembered flying, but only for a moment before harrowing pain overtook one of my legs and prevented me from standing on the ground, where I had been splayed out by the fall.
The Queen arrived shortly after, and both my brothers wore solemn faces. She carried me into my bedroom and ripped away all of my clothes, leaving me completely exposed to the squeaking laughs of the two accomplices who had crept inside the room. The garments immediately passed to one of the guards that also appeared in the room, who pressed them tightly to his chest as if they symbolised a prized possession, and hurried outside. I did not understand what happened and kept crying and asking my mother for help until she explained the clothes had to be taken and hung onto the big Cloutie tree in the royal garden.
“It is the first living thing that grew after the Goddess Catalina’s death,” the Queen explained. “Even in her eternal sleep, she cared for us and sent us power to heal our wounds. It is in her honour that we are healers of the living things. The Cloutie trees are sacred and they only grow naturally in the burial places of the three life giving goddesses,” my mother explained.
“How do they heal us mama?” I had asked as a boy.
“With their energy, in an exchange. You hang the clothes you wear when you are injured onto the branches and the magic of the Cloutie trees will feel the pain and sense where your form needs help to heal.”
“Just like we do with the plants?” I had asked.
“Exactly, my son, just like we do with the plants,” my mother replied in a soft tone, kissing my brow as sleep laid a blanket of silence over me.
