Lucas sat in an unknown clearing, desperately trying to remember how he had come there.
The sun was just rising, the shadows still blurry and spilling over everything. The meadow was small, half covered with fallen trees, as if it were made not by a forester but by a lightning storm, or the simple chance that several old trees had all fallen together. It should not have been unusual, except that Lucas had never seen it before, did not remember how he had entered, and most importantly, did not remember the way back.
Standing up, he reached to draw his bow. It was not there. His quiver was gone too. Vaguely, he remembered putting them back in the hollow tree, walking out of the forest at dusk. The memory stopped there.
It was morning now. Did he sleep? Why had he turned around? Even if he had seen the monster at the last minute, turned to pursue it again, he would have stopped to grab a weapon.
Maybe it had attacked him, moved him somewhere else in the world. That was a thing monsters could do, right? Lucas had heard stories, of mists that blended together the distance between far countries, of hands that reached from the shadows to pull travelers away from their destination. Neither of those were things he was particularly knowledgeable about. Neither were things he would expect to encounter here. Still, settling on a list of possibilities was better than acknowledging that he had absolutely no idea what was happening.
The full picture would have to wait. Right now he needed to get un-lost. Lucas had no issue disobeying the orders of the Greydawn villagers, but he never did it flippantly. They did have some idea of how the world worked, and their particular knowledge of their own land was something Lucas could never hope to match. So when they warned him not to stray from the paths, he had listened. Or at least, when he had strayed, he had done so very carefully.
This was exactly the thing he had been avoiding.
The woods looked the same. Five or six years ago, Lucas had walked to Greydawn from his old home. It was hard to put his finger on, but the way the woods came together there had been different. The underbrush was less, the air just slightly thinner, the hills less rolling. Wherever he had been taken, it was not far. Greydawn was north of the woods, but it was also north of the mountains. If he went downhill long enough, he would get past the treeline and the horizon would open up and he would see where it was. But with the forest pressing around and the hills dipping up and down together, there was no way he would be able to tell which way down was. At least not on his own.
Lucas closed his eyes. The birds were singing instead of the bugs, and there was a slight wind which made all the leaves bend and rub together. Still, behind all that, he could hear the noise he was looking for. He ran forward, stopping every few yards to listen again, until he came to a dip in the ground. Nestled between two hills, a small creek flowed.
It was not a direct path, but Lucas did not dare to cut corners. The stream rambled, joining with other trickles of water as it moved onward towards the plain. This was his path now, a makeshift solution in place of the one he had lost. He could not abandon it.
Lucas ran the whole way. It was harder than it should have been. The uncertainty of the situation kept him alert, but he could tell he was exhausted. His feet were not sure like they should have been. They caught on roots and slipped on leaves. He kept stepping down into the water and soaking his boots through. Maybe whatever magic had caught him last night had not moved him so much as made him move himself. That would fit—his limbs ached as if he had come all this way already.
Finally he came to a bend in the creek that he knew. He could follow it from here as it wound west and pooled into the pond just south of the cornfields, but there was no need. He could make his way home.
It was mid-morning when he emerged from the tree cover into the obscenely hot sun. Just ahead of him at the south end of the village, Jonack and Chizzy's house sat perched on top of a hill. Clotheslines swung behind, facing towards the forest. Someone was standing there, hanging up the bedsheets to dry. It was probably Chizzy herself, judging by height.
Lucas crept up to the base of the slope and crouched, tracing a potential path with his gaze. From this angle, the sheets were big enough to provide partial cover. If he was lucky, he could slip up the hill and in the back door and steal up to his room without being noticed. He did want to let everyone know he was not lost, but there would be less trouble if they thought he made it home late last night.
The grass was tall here on the outskirts of town, thicker than the underbrush in the deep forest. He stepped upwards on the steep part of the hill, grabbing tufts to keep his balance, trying not to get his boots caught in a hidden thicket. Grasshoppers popped up as he moved, the way tadpoles swam away from a step into a murky pond. There were no leaves here. His steps were silent.
Rheanna ran laughing out the back door, and Lucas took it as an opportunity, darting across the last stretch of hill. He was almost quick enough, hand reaching to hover over the handle of the door, when Chizzy pulled the last clothespin off of a blanket. It fell, clearing the line of sight, and their eyes met.
Well—there was no hiding now.
She dropped the sheet, ran forward, and embraced him. Her relief ran out quickly, making room for exasperation. Chizzy stiffened, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him to arms’ length. "Where were you!"
"I don't know," Lucas said. It was true.
Her mouth narrowed, like she had just sipped spoiled milk. "Lucas—you cannot keep doing this. Why don't you go sit in your room until your father gets home."
"Jonack isn't—"
"No. Don't start with that. I've had it up to here with you," she said, each word articulate, one hand reaching up to indicate a line just above her forehead. "Go sit upstairs. We'll talk later."
Lucas nodded. He needed a minute too. Chizzy's words were all muddled, not in sound but in meaning. He could tell that he had done something frustrating again, but for the life of him he could not catch what. This was bad. He needed to be able to think things through. Maybe if did what he was told, went upstairs and took a nap, he would feel better.
Slipping in the door, he made his way through the kitchen to the loft ladder. William was sitting at the table. There was something in his face—it could have been relief, or disgust, or rote curiosity. He knew the other children found his rebellion as entertaining as it was inexplicable, but normally William accepted his explanations. Lucas did not disregard authority for the fun of it. He just had more things to think about than anyone else usually considered. Disobedience was like getting mud all over your clothes—annoying and sometimes unavoidable. The two of them would have to talk later. Lucas could not explain anything until he figured out what had happened.
After climbing the ladder up into the loft, Lucas collapsed back onto his cot in the corner. The next thing he knew Rheanna was shaking his shoulder to rouse him. That was strangely convenient—normally he had trouble sleeping during the day.
"It's lunchtime," Rheanna said. "You should come. Papa wants to talk to you."
Lucas stood up and stretched. Whatever he had done last night had really worn him out, but he was feeling a little better. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight from his window was warm in a good way. "How much trouble am I in?"
Rheanna was already climbing back down the ladder. She snorted. "How should I know? You're never here to get punished."
Lucas yawned and stood for a moment more in the sunlight, considering the window. He could climb out and return to the woods. Whatever had caused the events of last night was powerful enough to deserve his attention. As soon as possible, he needed to figure it out, hunt it down, and make sure it was not a danger to anybody.
Then his stomach grumbled, and he turned to scramble down the ladder. The monster could wait.
Everyone was already sitting in the kitchen. When his feet jarred against the ground, the other children stopped eating, paused with their forks halfway to their mouths to stare at him. Jonack's chair rubbing against the ground was the only noise as he pushed back from the table and stood up, clearing his throat.
"Lucas," Jonack said, "Come outside with me."
Lucas shrugged, but followed—loping to the side on his way to the door, close to the table so he could grab a potato. Chizzy shook her head, but it was already in his hand and Jonack had not seen. He took a bite out of it as he made his way out the back door. It needed salt, but he was too hungry to care.
"You cannot do that again," Jonack insisted. He rubbed his forehead with one calloused hand, voice as frazzled as his receding hairline. "I know you love the woods—I think it's great that you enjoy spending time there. But you cannot disappear for a day and a half without warning. Do you understand? We thought something had happened to you!"
Lucas could not respond clearly through the potato in his mouth, so he shrugged. Judging by the curve of Jonack's face, that had not been the right response.
"Why are you like this?"
To answer that definitely would take more than a gesture, and Lucas had been over the main points too many times to think that explaining them now would do anything. What Jonack really wanted to know was why he had disappeared, but unfortunately, Lucas did not know the answer to that either. He swallowed. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. I'm sorry I worried you."
"Where were you?" Jonack said, softer this time. Maybe there was hope here.
"In the woods," Lucas said. "I was chasing a—an animal yesterday morning. I meant to be back but um—I got lost."
"You got lost?" Jonack said. It was a challenge more than a question. Lucas never got lost in the woods, and they both knew it.
That was the problem. Every time Lucas tried to tell the truth it came out as insolence, and he was starting to get tired of it. Everyone either needed to start believing the things he had to say or stop asking him questions. It was not that hard. Or really anything would be better than this game where he had to keep guessing what people wanted to hear. People were not like the streams which always moved down, or the trees which always grew up, or the monsters which always struck to kill. They could want anything.
Fine. Jonack could just deal then.
"I think there's a really bad monster nearby."
The sun went out.
It was still light enough to see, but just barely. Lucas caught a short glimpse of the back hill shaded in blue and purple before he fell down it headfirst. He should have tucked into himself, rolled with his arms rigid to protect his face, but he did not. He could not. His limbs would move, but not in the ways he wanted. He scraped his face in the dirt as he tumbled. For some reason, he could not quite figure out how to stand up.
The bottom of the hill stopped him, and he stood on wobbly legs, a little dizzy. There were so many smells here—the crushed grass staining his sides, the burnt air trailing from the chimney, the individual scent that marked the place Rheanna had run by earlier. Why did he not notice them always, these trails each living thing left in its wake? He darted forward towards the woods. That was his place, his true home. Why had he ever left? The ground was just the right texture between firm and soft, the air muggy but full, and Lucas was made to run in the hunt.
Something burst on his face, caught on the end of his nose and broke over him, like a spider’s web strung over a trail. Lucas stumbled and stood up, found himself standing at the edge of the forest with sunlight streaming down. Why had he come here? He was having an important conversation. Was this the monster again—had it done something to infect him, to make him come towards its den of his own accord? He had to go back, had to tell Jonack to lock him in the cellar or something until he figured out what to do.
Lucas spun around, expecting to see the hill he had just come down. Instead there was dark. A dark wall colored like dark glass stretched east and west. It curved back slightly, like a bowl turned upside down to cover a firefly. Except this time, the bug was Greydawn. He had nothing—this was magic, this was probably bad magic, but it did not ring any bells. There were not any monsters he knew that acted like this, there were not any Fey powers he knew of which would allow someone to do this.
He had to get back in—everyone else was still inside. Well, he had just pushed through the barrier. Maybe it was not solid. As soon as he thought it, Lucas reached out to touch the barrier His palm passed through like he was dipping it into water, and like looking through water, his skin looked different. Dimmer. For a moment he thought it was only the strange light inside coloring his hand dark, and then his arm began to shrivel. His fingers stuck together, curling up into a ball, and the back of his hand grew furry like mold. Lucas jumped back, yanking his hand out into the light.
He held up his arm. It looked normal again. Okay. So he could go back in, but it would probably kill him. The implications of that were not great. Maybe Jonack had walked out the same as he had? Stepping back, he looked both ways, down each side of the wall. There was no one. Did no one else escape? Was this all a coincidence—had he only escaped because some other ridiculously dangerous monster had taken over his body at the exact moment that whatever this was had happened? That seemed overly convenient.
It was too much. He would never sort through everything fast enough, and he needed to act now. He needed to pick one thing that would help and think as he went. It was the same as this morning, only more urgent. Why had he wasted all the time in between?
A weapon. This morning he had wanted a weapon. And the hollow where he kept it was close.
Lucas darted forward, along the edge of the forest. It was afternoon, but the crickets were chirping like they would at dusk. The shadows of the branches hung outward towards the meadow, towards the strange film arcing over the village. They were too big for the placement of the sun, and instead of pointing away from it, the shadows spilled around the tree trunks like a leaking bottle of ink. It gave him a queasy feeling. The world was not supposed to move like this.
The hollow tree was not far, but it took too long to get there. Lucas could not stand to be defenseless, not while the world stood still like a plate placed too near the edge of the table. He had barely reached into the old tree, fished out his weapon, finished fastening the quiver at his side when he felt rather than heard the low moan behind him. His lungs froze up, but his hands moved almost on their own, grabbing the end of an arrow and knocking it against the bowstring. There was something there. He did not know what it was. It would see him if he moved. Maybe it could smell him already.
The leaves behind him crunched—once—twice. The gait was wrong for something with four feet, but it was too big to be a man. And the sound gave away its position. If he moved it would see him.
He could only do this once.
Lucas spun on his heel, pulled and shot. The monster jumped at his movement—right into the path of the arrow. It was dark and gangly and too tall, and its semi-transparent body parted around the arrow like fog, reforming after it passed through. That was not normal. It was still bounding closer. Was there time to shoot again? No—it was standing right over him, reaching down with a twisted arm.
Lucas dropped his bow, pulled the long knife from his belt, and looked up just in time to see the monster grab his face. It lifted him up and back against the hollow tree. With his left hand he tried to pry off the long inky fingers, but found no purchase. The creature tightened its grip and grinned.
Lucas saw it coming, but the monster was facing the wrong way. Something small and black flew up at the monster’s nape and bit, hard. Jerking backwards, the creature dropped him in favor of reaching up at its attacker.
Slipping to his knees, Lucas gasped for air, feeling around until his hands closed around the weapon he had dropped. He could still hear the two monsters struggling, but already they had melted into the surrounding shadows. They shifted over the underbrush and the tree trunks in the middle distance, but not clearly enough to indicate their true position. Not that it mattered. Lucas still could not catch his breath enough to stand. His vision was blurry, dampened like the edge of day. There was even a point of light, glowing like the sun caught on the edge of the world before night, laid on the ground just within arm's reach. That shape—he knew what that glowing object was.
"Go," someone urged, and the cadence was familiar—the same as the laughing thief he had been chasing for two nights.
Lucas caught his mother's necklace from the ground and ran.
As his breath returned he picked up speed until he was moving faster than he had thought he was able. Though his sight had mostly returned, he barely looked at his path. There was no time to choose a direction, all his focus was pressed into balance and drive, the placement of his feet as he darted around thickets and across gullies. This was not a fight he could win, so he would make certain that he did not stick around to lose.
Something blurred at the edge of his vision. Before he could react, he ran straight into it, and they both sprawled on the ground. Lucas got up first, reached for his quiver and then stopped. It was William and Rheanna, clothes muddied, eyes puffy and red, trying to find their footing again. Rheanna stood up first, brushed her hair out of her eyes. Reaching to pull her brother up after her, she turned—and then she saw Lucas.
"What is this?" she demanded, "What did you do?"