Startled from sleep, Tildy snapped upright in her bedroll. She saw Marklin sitting a little way off, keeping watch with his back to the fire, which had burned low. He had not heard her wake. The villagers and witch slept on, clouds of breath rising in the cool night air. All around her, a crisp sky illuminated the world in brilliant starshine.

She remembered no dream or nightmare. What had woken her? Then she saw it. Not far from their campsite, a soft glow could be seen dancing amongst the broken stones of the stable. It was not the red light of a torch; rather it was white and moved low to the ground, like a skipping starburst. She thought briefly of nursery tales about untrustworthy wisps and spirits, but curiosity rules over judgment they say. She suspected she knew what made the light and couldn’t miss such an opportunity! Tildy quietly slipped from her bedroll to follow. With a last glance at Marklin, she picked up her travelling cloak and left the safety of the campfire.

The glimmer meandered around the ruined structure, as though searching for something. Tildy followed cautiously on silent toes, never getting close enough to be seen nor to glimpse the bearer of the light. They wove in and out of corridors of bleached stone, under archways of leaning rock, and still it eluded her. They reached the opposite side of the hillock. Beyond lay open ground, where she would finally spy the source of the glow.

Tildy peered around a large boulder and nearly gasped. Floating mere yards away, picking flowers by starlight, floated a being whom Tildy had wanted to see more than any other.

* * * * *

A Fairy.

Finally – finally – a chance to see someone she’d only read about in books or heard in hearthside tales. Perhaps she could get answers to the myriad questions about herself that she’d had since she was little. Long had she suspected a kinship with that race of Fay creatures, though the witch had always disagreed.

The small person could have stood upon Tildy’s hand. He inspected each flower carefully before making short quick movements, much like a hummingbird. His translucent wings beat rapidly, a multicolor blur upon his back, and gently buffeted his long silver hair. He wore a long white gown with embroidered hems of tiny gems that reflected the light. Around his neck, a silver chain held a jewel that blazed with magenta fire. One hand held a cone-shaped basket while his other hand placed petals into it. Occasionally, he found a rotting flower and cut it away with a tiny knife.

Rather than displaying a visible light source like a lunafly or glowworm, he radiated an inner grace his skin could barely contain. Tildy stood entranced, forgetting all else. It might have been five heartbeats or a hundred; she couldn’t count. She marveled at the Fairy, eyes drinking in every detail. She didn’t expect she’d be fortunate enough to see another.

When he suddenly went rigid mid-air, Tildy’s keen ears perked up and caught a quiet rustle. With the subtlest of movements, the Fairy slowly hovered to the underside of a tall toadstool and clutched the stalk, his light dimming while his wings ceased their fluttering. He was obviously hiding from whatever made the noise, though Tildy thought the mushroom cap, which had glowed briefly, had given him away.

* * * * *

All sat quiet in the starlight, and nothing moved: not the Fairy, not Tildy, and not the intruder. A large cloud riding the wind suddenly brought a deeper layer of night. As though it had waited for this, a dark shape loomed over the Fairy, but the tiny Fay was too quick. He flew circles around his foe.

Tildy didn’t know what to do. The Fairy couldn’t dodge the swiping hands forever and he probably wasn’t fast enough to flee. Struck by inspiration she didn’t understand, she hooted several times like a horned owl.

Success! The dark creature whirled toward Tildy with eyes that sparkled like watercolor emeralds. The Fairy giggled and fled. With an angry hiss, the creature gave chase, its footsteps making no noise as it swished through the long grass. Throwing some of her caution to the wind, Tildy pursued, but kept her wings hidden. For now.

The Fairy sought the safety of nearby trees, though Tildy didn’t think he’d make it. Glimmering petals streamed from his basket: little stars that died as they fell away. Fifty yards or more of green sward lay between him and the woods, and his pursuer was closing the gap, despite swerving to avoid the falling petals. Tildy stopped and retrieved a smooth stone from her pouch, fitting it to her sling. With a few rotations and a quick snap, she flung the missile. The creature must have heard it coming, for it ducked, quick as a snake, continuing its pursuit uninterrupted.

Her distraction had worked. The Fairy put on a burst of speed and made the treeline, his light flickering as he weaved around their trunks. The shadowed creature pulled up short, unwilling to cross the forest threshold. Tildy extended her wings and flitted over it, landing in the brush as she followed the Fairy. She felt a swipe of arms and heard an angry hissing sound that would haunt her dreams. She turned back to see two green points of light glaring at her through the brush. They blinked and were gone.

* * * * *

The darkness beneath the canopy enveloped her, deepening even as she stood there. She got the impression it wanted her to think she’d gone blind. She smiled because the forest didn’t realize she’d grown up in Dark Eddlweld. It would take more than midnight shadows to frighten a girl who’d teased Garni-ghasts. She took cautious steps, wary of roots and branches that might seek to trip her.

A tiny giggle caused her to whirl around, but the Fairy’s light was nowhere to be seen. A trick? Sinister shapes materialized at the edge of her vision as she searched for him, but disappeared before she could distinguish them from ordinary foliage. When she finally stopped, she saw only vague outlines of trees in every direction. Her entrance into the woods was lost to her.

She cursed herself for getting disoriented so easily, and she sensed the forest was pleased. A foreboding expectation lay on the air, as though the trees were watching and waiting. Perhaps some judgment upon her.

Tildy took a deep breath. Fear wouldn’t help nor would staying put. She only needed a glimpse of sky to get her bearings. Ahead she saw a dimness that promised a break in the canopy through which she might observe the stars. Yet, she had enough sense – and enough experience with the witch – to know there was more to any forest than trees and squirrels. As such, she would keep her wings hidden.

She moved ahead with caution. Creepers and mossy nets hung from low boughs, brushing her face or snagging her hair. Or they might have been the webs and legs of giant spiders, desperate to ensnare a new delicacy. But nothing clutched her for long and soon she reached the clearing’s edge. The breeze was a welcome relief, though it carried heavy clouds on its shoulders that obscured the sky. Tildy knew she had been lured deeper into the forest and it chilled her blood. Somewhere, a small voice reminded her that dawn would illuminate the way, but the unnatural darkness pressed upon her eyes and mind alike. Branches creaked all around.

It was less than a whisper, the sound she heard. The Fairy’s pursuer? She had always had sharp ears for a Human, which meant that many non-Humans underestimated her ability to perceive them. It also made her very good at sneaks-n-seeks. The noise broke whatever spell had befallen the trees and a few glowing twilight birch provided enough illumination to see again. She stopped but crouched as though tying her bootlace. She didn’t want the creature to think she had heard it.

* * * * *

It didn’t. The whispersteps came closer, cautiously. Tildy caught movement from the very corner of her eye but waited. Closer the steps came. She dared not breathe. With a casual hand, she reached for her pouch of slingstones, but it was gone! Was there no end to this place’s trickery?

The sound stopped. She thought the creature had paused behind the massive oak tree to her left. It would offer protection for the creature, but give her an advantage, since it would have to reveal itself to get around the trunk.

She stood and faced the tree. “Who are you? Show yourself,” she called, the oppressive air muffling her voice. It was a decision her mother would have called “greater parts foolishness than bravery.”

No reply came back. She stepped forward, making not a sound. You’re not the only sneak in the woods.

Closer she crept.

Closer.

She paused by a young tree with smooth dark bark. She was only feet from the large oak. “I know you’re there,” she whispered from her hiding spot. She must have leaned against the smaller tree, because its branches suddenly moved, its rustling leaves an eruption of sound in the unnatural quiet. Tildy looked up, thinking she had disturbed an animal, but saw nothing.

Then she saw the eyes.

Slightly above her head, within the dark bole, were two golden-brown eyes, similar in shape to those of a deer. “Oh!” she cried out as she staggered backwards and fell to the ground.

* * * * *

The tree itself also backed away, unsteady on two thick legs that formed its trunk.

Recognizing the quiet sound of its footsteps, Tildy stared curiously at it. “It was you. Why were you following me?”

The tree stared back, saying nothing. A head emerged, like a puzzle piece being pulled outwards from a recess of the same shape. It tilted, studying her. Like the eyes, the head reminded Tildy of a stag, complete with antlered twigs jutting from its head. Its arms, which had been pointed upwards within the tangle of branches, swung down toward her, but it reconsidered and withdrew them, knobbly elbows bending outwards from its body.

Recalling the book Faeries’ Taels and Dreames, Tildy suddenly knew what it was. “I’ve read about you, tree-spirit. You’re a Dryad!”

The Dryad nodded, its unblinking eyes inspecting her. Tildy thought for a moment. Why was it following her? Did it think she was hunting the Fairy? She recalled what she had read about the Dryads of the Fay.

It was two parts of a whole. There was the body, a dying tree that had lost its own spirit, and the soul, which gave the wood new life, strength, and greater intelligence. Dryads were guardians, though they rarely interfered with Humans or other People-Beyond-The-Trees, since they feared both axe and fire.

“Why were you following me?” she asked again, intrigued and very curious.

The Dryad took a cautious step, its foot a tangle of root that made little sound on the dry leaves. It paused as though testing her response. When she didn’t recoil, it took another less tentative step. It towered over her as she sat on the ground. Reaching out an arm, it unfurled its many-fingered hand, revealing her slingstone pouch.

“Thank you,” she said accepting it. “This must have slipped loose when I flew into the forest.” It nodded and Tildy realized what this meant. “You saw me fly?”

The Dryad nodded again. “You Priestess. Chensary.” Its melodious voice resonated through its body like a woodwind instrument. “Whishswish knows. I can tell.”

Tildy laughed. “No, not me! I mean, yes, I have wings, I’ve learned some herblore, and have a way with healing, but no, I am not a priestess. Look at me! I’ve got dirty fingernails and skinned knees! I’m not getting people to worship…anything,” she finished lamely.

The Dryad gave her a curious look that she could not read. “Whishswish sees in you something you do not see in yourself. The forest is pleased to see you, nonetheless. I know there are things about you. Perhaps one day you will understand, kind Priestess.”

Tildy decided there wasn’t time to disabuse the Dryad of this notion, so she changed tact. “Is ‘Whishswish’ your name?”

“Yes, like this,” the Dryad said, waving its branches around. “Is closest the clumsy Human words can make.” It made a soft hoo-hooing sound, which she assumed to be laughter.

She smiled. “Whishswish, I’m lost in your woods. Can you help me?”

“No one lost in Willowwacks once they are found.” The Dryad suddenly stopped, splaying its arms and fingers to screen Tildy from something behind it. Branches fanned out above her, casting her into deeper shadow. She tried to see around it, but the Dryad turned his head like an owl, a hollow hoosh indicating that she should be silent.

* * * * *

The forest held its breath. The twilight birch dimmed, as though by command. Anticipation filled the air like a looming thunderstorm. A twig cracked in the gloom many yards ahead. Tildy suddenly found the Dryad’s arms gently wrapped around her, lifting her from the ground and up onto its body, chest becoming its back since its head had turned around. “The rot comes even here,” the Dryad said, its voice as quiet as a breeze amongst the grass. Tildy wondered if it meant the rot she had seen with the witch.

She gripped its shoulders and strained her eyes for a better look. She knew by its reaction that she would not see friendly creatures, but the sounds rustling through the trees confirmed it first: slither-wither, slither-wither.

As they came into view, she shivered, all hairs standing on end. They had an evil feel, like something from folktales of the Darklan Days, when the black servants of the Evershadow roamed the world. They had the torsos and muscular arms of men, but their thin necks grew too long, and those led to broad flat heads that weren’t remotely Human. Their faces bent downwards to form the end of a horrible S-shape. Pale green eyes reflected the ambient light, which made them glow like firejewels.

They each carried a spear, with bow and quiver slung over their shoulders. Against her will, Tildy’s eyes traveled back down the curvature of their horrible bodies. She knew what she would see, for these creatures had haunted her childhood dreams. Where a first glance through the brush had suggested legs, she saw each figure bore twin tails instead, a chilling ending to the nightmarish story of their form. They swished back and forth across the path, slither-wither, slither-wither. It was like they had slunk out from the pages of those books she had feared to read, yet had opened, nonetheless.

They made short, quick movements, one pausing to watch as the other darted forward. Their green eyelight sparkled as they looked around, blinking frequently. With alarm, she realized they were getting closer. The path curved ahead, and the creatures would soon pass on their right, close enough to see Tildy and the Dryad if they fled.

They stopped and Tildy’s blood ran cold. Had they heard her breathing? She felt the Dryad tense and thought of a rabbit that pauses, ready to spring away, as soon as an escape could be found.

One of them reached down to unhook something from its belt, removing a cover to reveal the glow within the glass lantern. Inside, a soft light danced, bouncing around like it was trapped. The creature held the device high, shaking its head with a hiss, apparently unhappy that it could see no better.

In the flickering illumination, Tildy could see more detail, like the dark stripes that crossed their green bodies. Forked tongues flicked out occasionally, tasting the air. Their upper arms were banded with decorative leather thongs that dangled feathers – owl feathers she suspected – with ones of a similar sort tied to their spears. She recalled the bloody remnant they’d discovered outside Greywetherton.

The one holding the lantern raised it higher, looking away from Tildy and the Dryad. On the other creature, she saw some kind of ornamental belt crossing its torso from shoulder to opposite hip. Pouches, or something similar, hung from it. This one hissed, and the first covered the lantern and stowed it again. Tildy caught a familiar flicker of rainbow light before all again was darkness.

They began to move again, slower, as though they had difficulty seeing in the forest’s shadows. Tildy’s skin crawled at each movement: slither-wither, slither-wither. Nothing she had seen on her travels was so unnatural.

The creatures finally disappeared, soft hisses escaping with each tongue motion. Tildy dared not turn her head to follow them, but by her ears she knew they continued away. Slither-wither, slither-wither.

* * * * *

When all was silent, the Dryad relaxed. Gentle hands returned Tildy to her feet and she said, “Those were Slither-withers.”

“Eslavanaash.”

“Es-lav-a-naash,” she repeated, testing the word on her tongue. “There are enemies in your forest?”

“They are—” they Dryad paused, wanting to remember the phrase. It finally said in disgust, “Eaters of the dead and vile. Servants of Delosh, the Evershadow, as you name It. More and more they come, like a, like a disease to her forest.”

“But what are they doing here?” She stared in the direction the creatures had gone, feeling she had been given a sign and not liking what it meant.

“Soon, they are everywhere. The Eslavanaash, the Ogglesindah, and Orklinsha, and worse. They all return at the Shadow’s beckoning. Some were sleeping in dark places; some had lived no more. Yet they return, yes.”

“In the lantern, it was a Fairy, wasn’t it?” The Dryad moved its head in a circular motion and made a sound that seemed to confirm her deduction. “We have to save them!”

She moved to follow the Slither-withers, but wooden fingers clutched her arm. “No. We cannot save her, no.” Its voice was urgent. “They are strong, yes, and there may be more. The Priestess must be made safe.”

“But we can help her!”

It pulled more insistently on her arm. “This is no place for such talk. She does not want. No more argue. Come, let Whishswish return you to the daylight. It comes soon. To mother-wyn, I insist.” Tildy looked down at its arm, seeing iridescent blue flowers blossoming from the bark. “Deep breath, Priestess.”

Without thinking, Tildy inhaled, and the fragrance reminded her of those rare days in the Garden of Dappledown when nearly everything was in bloom. All her muscles relaxed, and she sagged into the Dryad’s arms. It said, “We go by paths you cannot see. Mother-wyn to find you soon.”

Tildy wondered sleepily, but yes, she would like to see her mother. As she steadied herself, a white fog crossed her vision. With popping black stars, it cleared, and she found herself standing in yellow grass up to her waist. Grey clouds padded the sky like the fleece of wild sheep. She stood on a trampled path in the swaying highgrass and felt compelled to follow it. Not far ahead, a filthy person in rags stalked away along the same track.

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