The Mistbeast of Blackwood Forest

By Emma Schouten

Emma has grown up in the French countryside despite being Dutch, but decided to start writing stories in English just because she could. Her time is divided between welcoming guests at work, writing stories at home and reading books everywhere. And her six cats, of course.

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Lin. A little town at the edge of Blackwood Forest, lost in the outreaches of Voyenne, and home to less than two thousand people. The entire economy here relied on the hunting of animals and the collecting of rare plants. Furs would be traded for other goods from all over the Voyenne, the plants would be exclusively sold to the mages of Troye.

What Feyre saw did not impress her in the slightest.

Lin. A cluster of houses built haphazardly on the shores of the Grande Elle River, looking as prosperous as any town haunted by a mysterious beast. Dusk had painted the sky in vivid tangerine, soft peach, and darker magenta, before gradually slipping into the dark blue of the approaching night by the time Feyre made it into town. In the failing light, she watched, intrigued and perplexed, as people hastened down emptying streets. Shutters were closed and doors locked. Only a few had noticed her crossing the bridge into town, none paid any attention to the great pine forest that surrounded the town on three sides.

Feyre guided her horse through a muddy street to a square. A well stood at its center, with benches arranged around it in a circle. Flower pots added a touch of color, though they were wilted. The houses that lined the square were mostly dark, all lights hidden behind wooden shutters. A few had a sign above their doors; a baker and a butcher, a blacksmith and, there, tucked away between two more prominent buildings, an inn.

She made for it. Feyre had visited a number of inns over the years; it could not be avoided when one traveled as much as a Shadow did. Never, in her six years on the road, however, had she seen one so quiet; especially one that doubled as the local tavern. No noise drifted out of the building. The windows were shut tight and no patrons walked in and out, singing and shouting.

Feyre’s feet landed on the ground with a dull thud that resonated loudly in the quietness. She tied the horse to a post and headed inside.

Only the smell of alcohol greeted her at the door. The drinking room was nearly empty, a few men, both young and old, sat scattered throughout the room. They sat quietly, focused on their own drinks. A man stood behind the bar, wiping down its surface, and a barmaid hovered watchfully at the other end. No one looked up, but Feyre was certain her entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She approached the bar and cleared her throat. The barman flung his rag over his shoulder and looked her up and down. She watched as he took in the cloak as black as night, the black shirt and the brown doublet. She saw his eyes glide over the crisscrossing leather straps on her chest, which held at least three throwing knives in clear view. They continued down over the dark leather pants and the weapons belt around her hips holding more weapons.

His wide eyes traveled back up to her face; she waited for the man to get over the shock of coming face to face with a Shadow. “What can I do for you, miss Shadow?”

Feyre would never get used to the tremble in a grown man’s voice at the mere sight of her. She was not particularly tall. Her long ginger hair and a face full of freckles were not what she considered particularly frightening either. Yet, the sight of the dark clothes and the weapons, each stamped with the Shadows’ crest, announced what she was as well as any herald.

“I would like a room.”

“Certainly,” he nodded frantically, then called the maid. The sudden noise and activity had caught the attention of the other patrons. Their eyes bore into her back. The maid exchanged a few whispered words with the man before she disappeared up a set of stairs. “You will have to forgive us for not having a room ready. We don’t get many travelers in these parts, you see.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have a glass of mead while I wait.” The road to Lin had been long.

She dropped onto the nearest stool, studiously ignoring the eyes on her back. The barman served her a tall glass of pale mead with a shaky hand. “Thank you kindly,” she told him as she accepted the glass. While Feyre never set out to spook the locals, she had discovered years ago it gave her a sense of pleasure; a little light in the dark business of a Shadow. “I have a horse outside; are there stables where I could house it?”

“Of course, we have them around back. I’ll take care of it right now.”

The man left in a great hurry, allowing the Shadow to enjoy her drink without his fearful gaze trained on her. Sure, the others still watched her, but she could ignore them. Or, at least, she would have.

A man dropped into the seat next to her.

She turned her head to him curiously as she drank. He was one of the younger men. The summer sun had tanned his skin and had bleached his hair to gold. But his eyes caught her attention; he had eyes the color of Arncaster Lake at high noon. Both blue and green, yet neither. Here was a child of summer if she had ever seen one.

He could be no more than twenty-five. Those shocking blue eyes flitted back and forth between her face, her empty hand on the edge of the bar, and the knives strapped to her chest - at least, she hoped they focused on the knives. A light stubble covered his chin and cheeks. He folded his bare forearms on the bar and leaned forward a little, gaining a clearer look at her face. She looked him in the eye, wondering if he would be bold enough to hold her gaze.

As it turned out, he was.

“Are you here to deal with the Mistbeast?”

She arched an eyebrow; it was indeed the name the Lightless had given her for the beast they had sent her to deal with, though they greatly disliked folktale names. She nodded. The young man’s shoulders sagged in obvious relief.

“You could have come sooner,” one of the other men called out.

Turning in her seat, she stared unwaveringly at the man. It would take little more than the blink of an eye, she mused. She could be out of her seat and at his side with a knife pressed to his throat in a snap. It would frighten him and allow her to work in peace. Instead, she opted for the second option. “I could leave again, if you are not happy with me,” she suggested. “Please feel free to file a complaint with the Order of Shadows.”

Feyre moved to rise from her seat. The one beside her grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Her eyes shot to him, sliding down to his hand on her. He promptly released her. “We are glad to have a Shadow here.” No one was ever happy to have a Shadow in their midst; secrets might be exposed, people might die. However, considering the rumors that had brought her here, this man might be the first to say those words to a Shadow and mean it.

“Tell me about this Mistbeast,” she demanded.

The Lightless had had few details to give her; the last thing Feyre wanted was to walk into Blackwood Forest unprepared. If this man was so glad she was here, let him help her. The barmaid returned and put a small iron key down in front of her without a word. The other men had quieted but continued to watch the Shadow at the bar, albeit more carefully and surreptitiously.

“The Mistbeast is a creature that has roamed the Blackwood for generations now. At first, the lumberjacks and the hunters would catch glimpses of it deep in the woods. Their stories say the beast is as tall as a horse but moves with the swiftness of a Shadow. It used to live in the deepest parts of the forests. We left the Mistbeast alone and it would leave us alone. Now it has become as deadly as the plague to all those who face it. None has survived an encounter in a long time.”

She nodded, though old wives’ tales weren’t what she needed. “What changed?”

He shook his head. “A bunch of hunters thought they could take it. The thought of a predator in their woods didn’t sit well with them, I suppose. They were idiots and underestimated what they were up against. The Mistbeast tore them to bits! Since then, it’s attacked everyone who ventures too deep into the woods. Now, it’s even coming closer to Lin. Some say they hear the Mistbeast walk through our streets, others say it moves like a ghost.” The young man shrugged, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“They are not just claims, boy! It’s the truth,” an old man interjected.

Feyre nodded again. No animal would come into a town of any size if it didn’t have to. The only reason this Mistbeast would leave the cover of the trees would be a lack of food elsewhere. Considering the trade of furs had neither increased nor decreased, Feyre assumed there to be plenty of prey within the forest. Why would it leave the safety of the Blackwood?

“How regularly does a party set out to hunt it?” The town couldn’t afford to remain passive when its livelihood depended on those woods.

“The last party left only two nights ago.” A short silence fell. Feyre caught a wistful glance cast at the door. “None came back. They’re probably all dead.”

The barman rushed back in, white as a sheet as he slammed the door closed behind him, locking it for good measure. “It’s out there,” he whispered to the room. He cast a quick glance out the window. “Best if everyone stays here tonight.” With that, he started on the collecting of locks and chains to secure the door.

“It can sense the Shadow,” a man behind her exclaimed in fright.

Feyre rolled her eyes at the assumption. She had known, somewhere at the back of her mind, there was a reason she usually didn’t reveal her Shadow-self in public as she had done here. After months at the Order’s headquarters surrounded by other Shadows, and weeks alone on the road, it had slipped her mind. Now she remembered what that reason was.

Finishing her ale, she put her glass down and snatched up the key. She moved to one of the windows and took a peek into the street. Nothing but houses bathed in the final rays of sunlight. Feyre mused that if this Mistbeast had become master of the forest, why leave it? Most likely, the locals were too easily spooked.

“Do you know the woods?” she asked the blond.

His blue eyes returned her stare; she wondered how much it would take to frighten him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to try. How long had it been since anyone other than a fellow Shadow or a mage had not been afraid of her? “I do.”

“Good. Tomorrow, you will take me to the different attack sites.”

Without another look around, she took herself upstairs to find her room.

***

Lin did not look much better in the light of dawn. The houses had been built with wood and partially covered in plaster. Over time, the wood had started to rot, while a layer of grime built up over the plaster.

When Feyre stepped back into the square, feeling the worn cobbles underneath her boots. When she breathed in, the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach forget all about her breakfast and ask for more freshly baked goods.

People had appeared from their houses, filling this central area with activity and noise. Women collected water from the well or gathered baskets, talking animatedly. Men gathered in groups, counting arrows, testing bowstrings or sharpening axes. Children ran through the throngs of adults. Branching off the square, the roads turned to dirt, their cobbles having long since disappeared beneath the mud.

“Shall we set off?”