Six Years Later

Artemis doesn't fear the Grim Woods. He belongs there. He wanders as a ghost among the dense forest shaded by old branches that creak when the wind blows through. If one listens, they may hear the trees telling tales of all they've seen. The creeks shimmer clearer than polished glass, glimmering rocks below like jewels waiting to be worn on an elegant lady's neck.

Elk with horns wider than Artemis is tall stalk through the trees. Their eyes gleam black against tan fur. He has never had the heart to kill them, finding that the moss growing on their backs and vines twisting in their antlers are symbols of an ancient beast that commands respect. And there are others like them, foxes made wholly of bark and leaves or birds as big as a grown man with wings of golden fire. The forest is ancient, but only after traveling them has Artemis truly understood how old.

Ima warned him of beasts within the woods that he could never stand against. What those may be, he isn't entirely sure, and he's grateful to not have learned. There have been times where he felt it; something ancient and dark waiting to awake. Mounds encircled by waist high stones with runes carved into them rest here or there throughout the forest. When a breeze runs by, it chills him to his core. Ima's words come to mind again; maybe there are dragons sleeping under hills, breathing warmth that keeps the woods forever green.

He doesn't plan to test the theory.

But there is one place that Artemis wishes to explore, even while knowing the danger. A white tree that rests as far as he's ever traveled into the Grim Woods. It sits alone, surrounded by evergreens, small but eerily beautiful with silvery bark and leaves a pale blue. Should one rest their hand against the bark, they'll find that it's as cold as ice, and yet the grass still grows and the leaves are full. The roots twist into the earth, spreading like veins through the land. Beneath the tree, there's a narrow opening leading to a shadowy tunnel. Artemis has never done more than stick his head in, fearful of what may rest below.

Where does it lead? What secrets do the Grim Woods hold? He asks, but doubts he'll ever know.

Although the Grim Woods remain a threat, even to Artemis and his enchantment, he always gazes back longingly when he leaves. When day breaks, he will return to the forest, to the solitude that has become a part of him over the last six years. He takes his kills wrapped on a sled to the center of town where he has a small shop. The shop sits slanted against the rest. Tan brick stone with a brown roof and shutters hanging on rusted hinges. There, he skins and preserves the meats, selling what he doesn't take for himself.

Artemis' shop is the most popular in town, even if it only opens in the late afternoon or early evening, even if most of the townsfolk are suspicious and a little fearful of the owner. Travelers are less fearful, unaware of Artemis' gift. Many believe he is a skilled hunter only. They step into the shop, purchase what they need for the road, then leave. He makes quite the coin, even with having to pay taxes to the king for hunting on his lands. The Grim Woods aren't his lands, but Artemis wouldn't dare argue.

"Good afternoon, Artie!" Maggie calls, one of few that treat Artemis with the same kindness that she gives to others. She hops into the hut with a basket, beaming brightly until he hums in response. She brushes a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You, uh, you've made some great catches today. Well, I guess you always do. I hope you haven't run into any trouble, though. There's word that more travelers have gone missing from the Jolly Road than usual these last few weeks."

"Probably because the red caps are patrolling the road. They'll move on soon enough."

"You've seen them?"

"Mhm." Artemis slices into the coat of a fox, skinning it with freakish precision. Maggie gags, turning her back. She struggles not to think of what the sounds entail.

"Don't you think it'd be a good idea to stay out of the woods until they've gone? You have more than enough to take a few days' break."

"One never knows when we may need it," he replies, dryly.

His words cause both to recall the two years of poor harvest followed by the Crimson Plague. The disease spread through all of Valsinya, causing people to hack up blood until they inevitably drowned. They lost almost half of the townspeople of Eidenswill to the plague. A section of filled used to burn the endless piles of body remains scorched, as if the ground mourns the tremendous loss.

"You sound like my father," Maggie teases. "You should take some time to act your age."

"And what does that entail? Going swimming in Broken Creek or dancing to Old Janny's banjo? Neither are of much interest to me."

"You haven't tried in a while. Maybe you'll change your mind."

Artemis hums, concentrating on his work until Maggie sits the basket on the clean counter.

"Here, I made this for you," she claims.

"Maggie," he says, facing her, already guessing what is within the basket; fresh rolls of bread. Free of charge.

"Don't act like you won't take it. It's the least I can do. I know you charge us less for the meat. I overheard the price you make others pay. This is thanks."

"I don't do it for thanks." He nudges the basket towards her.

"That's more reason to give it." Maggie heads for the door, glancing back to add, "Don't forget the town is having a bonfire tomorrow to celebrate the good harvest this year. Even if you aren't one for dancing, you should stop by."

"I'm not welcome."

"You feed half the people in town. You're very welcome," she states, walking out the door.

Sighing, Artemis returns to work.

He didn't forget about the bonfire, and he won't go. Maggie doesn't understand. She chooses to only see the good in others, making herself oblivious to the truth; most of the villagers fear him, and some furiously envy him. They're grateful, of course, because he can hunt and gather in the Grim Woods. But they're fearful for that very same reason. All know he asked Ima for a gift and lost his eye for it, but none know what that gift is or if he only paid for it with his eye. Some have asked, and he has never told. Maybe it's his own fault for being mysterious, or it's theirs for being suspicious and envious.

When he's done, Artemis returns home where Camellia has dinner ready. She remains thin even after forgetting the pain of hunger. Her eyes are sunken in, a gaze that is neither here nor there. She doesn't acknowledge Artemis when he sits at the table. They eat in silence, then go their separate ways. If Camellia isn't tending to the garden or her tonics, then she's in her room. Ever since Kalen passed away, she has become less and less a person and more a moving doll on a timer.

"Goodnight, Mama," Artemis whispers to her door. He never receives a response. After so many years, he doesn't expect to, but he always hopes. There is only ever hope.

The next morning Artemis wakes before dawn. He snacks on the rolls Maggie made, slathering them with jelly. Camellia's bedroom door is ajar. She sleeps within, curled beneath the covers, looking more at peace than when she's awake. Artemis shuts the door before heading out.

The woods welcome him every morning with fresh apples and berries. He munches on them, lugging the sled until coming to the usual hiding spot. Leaving tracks is never a good idea. He has run into many faerie creatures over the years. While not every experience has been unpleasant, he rather avoid them at all costs. They don't typically like discovering a human that isn't bewildered by the forest.

Artemis covers the sled with bushes and branches. He triple checks he has everything, weapons upon weapons hidden in pockets or beneath his jacket, one can never be too careful, then he's off.

Since the red caps are making trouble, Artemis steers clear of the Jolly Road. Typically, he hunts nearby in hopes to help any that may stumble into the woods. He has saved more lives than he can count over the years, creeping into a bog witch's lair to drag an unconscious traveler from her nest, or paying off goblins with shiny silver pieces for the man on their spick.

Killing a faerie is the last resort, otherwise he may find himself under the watchful eye of the High King of Grim. Fae aren't known to care for one another, but they do care about keeping face. Nothing looks worse than a human killing fae and not being punished for their crimes. It's unfortunate that more will lose their lives, but there is only so much Artemis can do.

Artemis rarely spends all day hunting. The Grim Woods are abundant. There are no other hunters so he finds a kill easy enough. Most of the time he's enjoying the scenery, reading a good book in a bed of flowers or getting a nice nap in the tree branches. That day is no different, until he catches himself a fox and returns to his sled only to hear the familiar rough rumble of a red cap.

"What is this?" Mythik asks. "A belonging to that human brat?"

Artemis hides in the bushes, peering beyond to where his now broken sled lies before the taloned feet of a red cap; grotesque creatures, somewhere between a goblin and a dwarf. But don't let their small size fool you. They're fighters to the core, bodies scarred from battle with their own kin and any that dare invoke their wrath, which can be brought about simply by the wrong tone of voice. Their eyes shimmer silver in the light, bright against their green or tan wrinkled skin. All wear a red cap crusted with the blood of their victims. They never wash them, and they fall into a panic should one take it.

"Human brat?" asks another. There's at least seven atop black stallions that should be too large for them, but they ride better than most. "Humans don't survive the Grim Woods."

"This one does," Mythik claims. "He's enchanted by one of our own, comes and goes as he pleases. We nearly got him once."

Artemis shivers at the memory, one of his first. Seven months after Ima left, he entered the woods to gather fruits and fish in the river. He didn't know how to hide his tracks. A group of red caps with their leader, Mythik, chased him through the forest in malicious laughter, then secured him to a spick over a roaring fire. They were going to cook him alive until another of their captives broke free from their bonds. They aren't very good at that—tying knots—because Artemis squirmed free of his too when they ran after the lad. He escaped with only a burn scar on his lower back from tumbling into the fire.

"Shall we search for him?"

"We don't need to. He's already here. I never forget the smell of their fear," Mythik answers. He stares at the bushes where Artemis lies.

One by one, the red caps turn, smirking in Artemis' direction. He doesn't hesitate because hesitation will get you killed. He runs, dropping the catch for the day, not risking the extra weight. His heart hammers in his ears, softer only to the pounding crunch of the horses behind. The red caps whistle and howl, mocking and menacing, promising to skin him, to gut him, or cut his limbs off one by one. When he reaches for his eyepatch, Mythik cuts off the path.

"You aren't escaping this time!" he cackles.

The red caps close in, swinging their scythes and swords. Artemis dives beneath the horses, darting to his feet to rush through the thicket. The bushes are too thick for the horses to follow. They rear back, their riders growling. They take a detour. The hooves are never far behind as Artemis' legs ache, pushing him further and further into the woods. Branches cut open his rosy cheeks. Roots bruise his ankles, threatening to trip him, but he keeps steady. Onward and onward.

The forest knows him now, and he knows the forest. It changes day by day, but the feelings remain. There's something here and something there that he remembers, that tells him where he's going, and although he isn't sure what awaits him may be better, he doubts it can be worse. The red caps aren't far behind, enjoying the chase that they could end much quicker, that they should have ended quicker.

When Artemis breaks the tree line, the white tree waits, beckoning him closer with a cool breeze. The red caps shout a string of curses. Their horses skid to a halt, disobeying their masters, kicking and bucking. Artemis slides feet first into the tunnel, covering his face with his arms. He tumbles through the darkness, grunting and groaning. He descends into a cavern so bright it's blinding.

When he hits the ground, his vision blurs. The last he sees is a cave of white light and a boy encased in ice, then the world goes dark.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾