It was the creature again.
Return soon, child,it called.
The hairs on the back of Maylie’s neck prickled.I will,she replied.
Maylie
Thirteen winters old
MAYLIE FOLLOWED THEbank of the lake, swinging her basket in her hands. Its surface shimmered like smashed glass as geese sailed back and forth, cutting lines through the water. Normally the villagers of Silicia buzzed at the lake’s edges, washing clothes and splashing in the shallows, but at this time in the morning, all was quiet. Maylie hummed as she strolled, enjoying the cool peacefulness of dawn before the glaring summer sun ascended high in the sky. Soon the mountainside would be a blaze of white, clanging sunshine and she would retreat to her aunt’s stone cottage, cutting, drying and mixing herbs in soupy heat as beads of sweat trickled down her back, and tending to Tadrie’s sickbed.
Maylie reached the top corner of the lake where the ground rose steeply through bushes and ferns, leading to the forest. She glanced over her shoulder, checking she could not be seen, then stepped into the undergrowth and began climbing the mountainside.
Visiting the forest in the early morning had become something of a routine over the last few seasons. She had remained cautious at first, skirting its boundaries and never staying long beneath the trees, but as time had passed, her confidence had grown. The plants in the forest were luscious and plentiful, and its hushed depths offered a serene tranquillity that was not easily found in the hustle and bustle of the village. Maylie had started slipping between the trees more and more often, her fear ebbing each time. And now, she gave the warnings she had heard throughout her childhood the briefest of thoughts as she disappeared into the undergrowth.
Beneath the trees it was even cooler and Maylie breathed in the damp, piny scent.
I am here,she called.
Her forehead clenched with pressure and her fingertips fizzed. She had become accustomed to these feelings when she used her Gift and she knew they were a sign of magic, though they still felt strange. They always would.
She waited, but all was hushed.
As promised, over the last few seasons the creature from the forest had guided Maylie to every wild-growing plant her heart could desire. Maylie left each visit with a basket full of fresh supplies and, recently, the creature had even shown her new herbs that could not be found elsewhere in the mountains. Maylie had proudly added sketches and records to her aunt’s herbology notes, wishing she had not avoided the forest for so long.
I am here,she repeated, louder.
After a moment, she saw a flicker of movement between two trees ahead. She smiled and picked her way around nettles and through bushes towards it. A golden-crested squirrel jumped among thebranches above and a horned hare scurried across her path. But when Maylie reached the spot between the trees, the creature was not there. She was about to call out again, when she saw another flash of silver a few paces further.
The creature did not often play such games, but its manners were still a mystery to Maylie, who tended to blunder her way through their interactions, trying her best to be courteous. Often when she asked questions, the creature would not answer, and a few times, when it had recoiled from her, she guessed she had said something wrong. But mostly, she sensed that the creature liked her. It was almost a friend.
A sweet giggle of laughter sounded. Then the tinkle of bells.
Maylie turned in surprise, but the trees around her were tall and still.
With a slight frown, she began walking again, moving deeper into the forest.
Ahead of her, the shadow fluttered and danced. It beckoned her onwards, always just out of reach, and Maylie watched it, transfixed.
Time slid away.
The ground beneath Maylie’s feet started to rise and the trees receded.
Yet onwards she traipsed.
Sometimes the shadow glowed; then sometimes it whirled and flashed, never fully taking form. It remained forever just ahead of her, tantalizingly close. When Maylie took a step forward, so did it, always maintaining the same impossible distance. Like light caught on water, it shimmered and danced, a whisper in the forest that beckoned her onward.
Then, suddenly, Maylie stumbled.
The toe of her boot hit the edge of a boulder and she fell,arms scraping across gravelly ground. She jolted, as if waking from a deep sleep, and squinted into bright sunlight.
The trees and bushes around her were gone. Above, the sky was wide and blue, and the air tasted sharp and thin. Over her shoulder, Maylie could see the dark, huge puddle of the forest far below. In horror, she realized she must have walked all the way through it, deeper than she had ever dared venture before, emerging high up the mountain on the other side, far away from the boundary of the village.
She scrambled to her feet in a panic. Disorientated and woozy.
A high squeal of unnatural laughter sounded.
Turning, she saw something running back towards the trees. She caught a flash of an impish, ethereal face and an impossibly long-limbed, crane-like figure cloaked in gossamer. Its movements were wrong, too fluid and too swift – like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. Its head was tilted to one side at an unnatural angle and a wide, malicious grin ripped apart its face.
