Flames lick up the sides of trees, burning leaves to ash, rising taller and hotter. Smoke spreads through the gloom, forcing itself down my throat. Terror sinks its talons into me, pinning me to the spot. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
A ragged scream tears from my mouth as a blazing sapling snaps in two and falls to the ground, igniting the carpet of moss. I screw my good eye shut as I choke and gasp, my heart thundering so hard it could burst through my chest.
The forest is filled with the sound of my nightmares – the snarling, snapping crackle of fire, threatening to devour me.
No.
A surge of adrenaline rips through me, and I realize I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die likethis.
I stagger to my feet and collide hard with the thick trunk of the fruit tree. My limbs seem to be working one step faster than my brain, for I’m already climbing, my bowslung across my back, scrabbling desperately for footholds, grabbing branches and heaving myself up. Smoke rises with me, obstructing my vision even further.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see that the forest floor is now entirely ablaze. Panic lodges in my stomach, scratching my insides.
There’s no way down, but the trees in the Greenwood grow so closely together they almost intertwine. If I could just manage to swing myself into a neighbouring tree …
A blast of heat billows upward, engulfing me, and my foot slips. There’s a wrenching in my shoulder socket as my whole body lurches.
I dangle helplessly from a branch, just metres above the inferno.
My palms are slick with sweat. I feel myself sliding.
‘Flint.’
Over the roaring flames I hear my name. His voice is a winter’s breeze, crisp and inviting, and I hold on to it even as I lose my grip.
I fall down, down, down, and flames swallow me whole.
I’m burning alive, writhing in agony as the flesh melts from my bones. The world is nothing but smoke and suffering. Death will be a kindness. I welcome it with open arms.
‘Flint!’
Cool hands cup my face.
‘Flint, listen to me. Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real. You’re hallucinating.’
And suddenly, as quick as a finger-snap, the pain recedes. The blazing heat evaporates, followed by the deafening crackling.
I open my eye to find that the flames are gone, leaving no trace behind. The Greenwood is just as gloomy and empty as ever, except for –
‘You,’ I breathe.
Sheen scans my face, his throat bobbing anxiously, his white-blonde hair tousled and streaked with dirt. I lie flat on my back, staring up at him, shaken and bewildered.
He breaks his gaze, glancing up at the fruit tree. His tone is teasing, yet for once free of malice. ‘Got a little hungry, did we?’
That’s when I put it together. ‘The fruit,’ I croak.
He nods. ‘It’s hallucinogenic. I’ve heard it forces those who eat it to relive their greatest fear.’ There’s a pause. ‘You were screaming. What … what did you see?’
My mouth goes dry. My skin smarts. Sheen’s face blurs out of focus.
Can I really admit the truth? Can I say it out loud? This secret I have kept hidden – a source of shame and torment and self-loathing so visceral it rips me apart from the inside.
My voice is barely a whisper. Even the word burns.
‘Fire.’
That’s when the tremors take hold. My whole body begins to convulse, wracked with awful, jerking shudders. I gasp as my airways constrict.
