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Things are definitelynotbetter in the morning, which is immediately apparent when I wake in the sticky, humid layer of fog that settled over the Woods floorovernight, making me grateful that at least I still have my sleeping bag. Even if it smells weird, like sweet cinnamon, sweat and, weirdly enough, cum. Maybethatis why I have been having the most wild and insane dreams.
All night I was haunted by a beautiful man with purple skin, soft silver-white curls and the plumpest lips curved into a devilish smile. A man who smelt like cinnamon and sugar andmine. He was crying and screaming one minute, and the next we were wrapped in each other’s arms while he kissed me, floating in the black, and everything feltrightagain. But then he would disappear from my arms and I would try to reach him as he cried in the darkness. On and on, all night, until I woke somehow more tired than when I went to sleep.
The only good thing so far is the smell of coffee. Edith is apparently already up and at it. I roll over, still wrapped all snug in my sleeping bag.
“You got a cup ready for me?”
Edith’s head snaps up from where she had been staring into the fire. A grim smile breaks over her face as she rises and pours the bitter black liquid into the metal mug and brings it over. She sinks down next to me as she hands me the cup.
“Uh, yeah, here. But I have bad news. First, we forgot sugar. Second, I had a lovely chat with some poltergeists passing through last night.”
A shudder wracks through my body when I realise how close those nasty beings had been last night while I’d been sleeping in the open. Edith had set up protective wards, but still. Gross.
“Yeah, exactly. But um, hate to tell you this, but we must have got turned around on one of those switchbacks the Woods threw at us yesterday. We’re only two hours from my house.”
I can feel my mouth drop open as I jerk up, spilling the boiling liquid on myself. “Fuck,” I shake out my stinging hand, “andFUCK! What do you mean we are only two hours from yours? We walked forhoursyesterday! This is fucking ridiculous!” Edith raises her eyebrows at me, and I frown apologetically at her. It’s not her fault the Woods is fucking with us. I’m just done. Well and trulydone.
“Yeah, I know, hun. Something’s going on with the Woods. It almost feels like they want us to turn back…”
“Yeah, fuck that. I’m going back to Black Stump and collecting my things. Maybe someone there will have some answers because this is bullshit.” I kick my way out of the coffee-sodden sleeping bag, righteous indignation burning in my veins.
Edith slaps her thighs and stands with me. “Whatever you want, bud. I kind of want some answers too. We’ll walk today and hopefully make it there by nightfall.”
I have my doubts about that, but between the burning rage, the crushing sadness, the overwhelming feeling of loss and anxiety, I don’t really have any other options.
***
We didnotmake it by nightfall, and the Woods delivered us a lovely icy drizzle to keep us company for the whole day. We also got waylaid by a herd of centaurs who insisted that we join them for lunch, offering a chance to get out of the rain and warm up. Their leader, Eusis, a very handsome man with waist-length, shining blonde hair, cream coat with white socks and a twitching tail that matched his lush mane, tried to get a little too close as we had shared their meal under the rocky outcrop where they were spending the day.
Edith could barely keep her snorting laughter under control as I kept shifting away and Eusis kept creeping closer. I tried to keep the conversation neutral, about the homestead and what it was like for them here in the Woods, even about my hometown of Whisper Wells and their hostility to the beings of the Woods, but he kept trying to work in invitations to spend time with him out here in the Woods and worse, trying to snag an invite to the homestead.
The whole thing made my stomach churn, that tugging feeling becoming almost violent, and an ill feeling crept beneath my skin, until I rudely jumped up and made a half-hearted excuse and dragged Edith out of there with me.
Along with the relentless rain, the Woods continued toying with us, until late in the day, when the sky turned dark and the path suddenly cleared. Edith had checked our location against the usual markers and had announced that we were just over halfway there, but there was no way that we would have been able to make it there that night.
The trip that should have taken less than a day easily has somehow been dragged into a two-night affair with all of this bullshit, and not for the first time I begrudge the fact that there is no other way to traverse Whisper Woods other than on foot. And that I don’t have my phone.
I really, really hope it is back with my truck at Black Stump, and isn’t in with the rest of the kit I had apparently lost. I had gone through the pack again that morning, trying to find clean clothes, and it really is like I have mixed all my stuff with someone else’s. I just have no idea whose. Or wheremystuff is.
And every time I try to remember that blinding headache comes back and everything goes white for a moment. It is easier to just not think about the sweaters that smell vaguely like cinnamon and sugar and tug at my gut in a way that makes me think I should know. I did manage to find something odd amongst the regular camping gear; it is a map of Whisper Woods with a mark in the centre, where, as far as I am aware, no one dares tread. Someone had obviously enchanted it at some point. There are burnt lines from a dead pathway marring the paper.
I had shown the map to Edith last night when we had managed to find somewhere relatively dry and safe for the night. Her face had scrunched up in that worried look I was beginning to really dread, biting her red smeared lips and twitching her nose, before tucking the paper into one of the many pockets on her and telling me to get some sleep. But while sleep came, rest never did. The same dreams of soft purple skin wrapped around me, so close yet just out of reach, haunted me and I woke the next morning sore, cold, hard as a rock and frustrated beyond belief.
It is just after noon by the time we finally make it back to the Black Stump, the familiar smells of the food cooking drawing us closer and closer until we can finally hear the rowdy sounds of beings enjoying their afternoon, and glimpsethe extremely welcome sight of the imposing stone Tavern calling us home like a beacon. We are exhausted, soaked through to the bone and filthy. But it is all soon forgotten as we half-run up the cobblestone path to the large wooden doors propped open. We ignore the crowd welcoming us, and then recoiling at our admittedly disgusting selves, as we shove our way through to the bar.
“Edith! You’re here! Caelan! You made it back! I was getting worried.” Roan’s booming voice calls out across the bar as we make our way over, easing the cold anxiousness inside me just slightly. Until, that is, his dark grey eyes run over Edith and me, and our bedraggled appearances, before flicking over my shoulder. Confusion settles back over his face. “Uh, maybe I should still be worried?”
Edith shoves a short, round man with greyish leathery skin off his stool, completely oblivious to his protesting squeals as she sits in his place and slumps with her head resting on the bar. “I need, like, all the beer please, Roan. Like, all of the beer.”
Roan chuckles and finishes wiping a glass with the dish towel permanently over his shoulder before filling it from the tap for her. Roan has known us both long enough to not argue. I join Edith at the bar, dumping my bag to the floor before flopping onto the empty stool. Roan watches me carefully, one dark eyebrow arched, waiting patiently for my story.
Even though he is shorter than me by a good few inches, he is much wider and definitely thicker, with thick ropey muscles thanks to his berserker lineage, and horns jutting out from his long, sable hair, which is currently tied back into a low bun. The horns curl backwards over his head before flicking back up dangerously. Roan knows well that he is imposing, threatening even, and while that is handy when things get out of hand in the Tavern, he is genuinely kind. Kind of like a teddy bear. That can gore you or tear you to shreds if he feels like it.
Apparently, he is over waiting for me to fill him in, because he scratches at his neatly trimmed beard and rests both hands on the bar, leaning forward.
“Right, you two turn up here, looking like shit, smelling like you’ve been rotting in the ether, nearly two full weeks after you left your car here, Caelan. Spill.”
My face drops. Two weeks? I’ve been out here for nearlytwo weeks? What have I been doing and what the fuck is going on with the farm back home? Who has been looking after the chickens? Edith and I turn to look at each other, faces both horrified, and she drains the rest of her beer. I look back at Roan, taking in his increasingly concerned expression, the way his thick fingers are gripping the dark wood of the bar. I scratch the back of my neck, catching a whiff of myself as I do. We reallydostink.
