I shielded my face seconds before their swords cut into me. I swung the hatchet blindly in the air, trying to keep my balance as a hundred tiny blades sliced at my legs and arms and neck, trying to orient myself while pinching my eyes shut so they wouldn’t get gouged out. 

“No! Keep fighting!” the pixie mother screeched somewhere behind me. 

But her children did not listen. A few more cuts later, the assault on my body ceased altogether, and I felt what could only be tiny pixie bodies falling on top of me with soft thuds. 

“There’s too much rain, mother!” a pixie near my elbow whined. “Our wings are as heavy as our swords!”

“Then drink from the human, weaklings!” 

Thunder exploded above us, so deafening and close I feared the sky was ripping open. Some of the pixies started to cry and wail for their mother to please keep them safe and let them return to her embrace. 

I sat up, blinking through the pouring rain. I could barely see the pale outline of the pixie mother only a few paces away. 

She glared at me with her needle-sharp teeth bared, the light in her chest flickering to the rhythm of her breathing. The cuts and pinprick wounds left by the pixies’ tiny blades stung painfully like splinters stuck under the skin, but unless those blades were coated in a deadly poison, I was unharmed.

I wiped my eyes and stood up. Something squealed under my boot and I felt it resist, then collapse; there was a pang of regret. Maybe the pixies were just obeying their master.

“You lied!” I spat at the pixie mother, pointing with my hatchet. “You said you’d give me what I need!” 

“I never lie!” the creature hissed. She swiped at the air in front of me with too-long white fingers. “Humans do not belong in the Overgrowth. You are a trespasser here, and you need to die.” She sliced at the air again despite my never having moved closer. 

Then, her posture changed. She straightened her back and a gentle, motherly smile formed on her lips, stretching them back to the roots of her jaw. She held out her hand toward me in an invitation. 

“Come.” 

Something at the back of my mind repeated the command in a soft whisper, reminding me of my mother’s breath on my forehead when she consoled me after I woke up from a nightmare.

For a moment, my body leaned forward, willing and eager to let this creature devour me. It would be so easy to relax into the ground, to give of myself and my life to the networks of roots and create life anew. Comforting. Tempting. I needed rest, rest, rest. I deserved this eternal slumber that would cleanse me of my guilt. 

Wait … Guilt? What guilt? 

No, that’s right. I deserved neither death nor peace until I found Sinéad. To decay would be to give up; to embrace the earth would be a reward I did not earn. I would suffer until Sinéad was safe. Life without her was my punishment. 

So let the maggots starve.

I jerked back and the smooth whisper in my head snapped like skin over a reopened wound. Pain bled out from the back of my skull, soaking through my head and out of my nose. I whimpered and gasped and bent over to throw up. 

“How … How did you do that?!” the pixie mother screamed over the rain and my vomiting. “That’s impossible! That’s impossible!” 

Another pixie died, drowning in my blood and stomach acid. Blue. It had been blue, before its little form shriveled into nothing. My body convulsed a couple more times to squeeze more from my empty gut, and the pain in the back of my head faded to a dull headache. I breathed in mouthfuls of the cold, wet air, wiped my lips with the back of my hand and righted myself again. 

The hatchet felt heavy in my hands, yet its familiar weight was the only thing steadying me.

I looked at the pixie mother, “Anything else?” 

“No! No no no no no! I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you! I wish you would die! I wish I could kill you and eat you and watch you die! Get out! Leave me alone!” 

I blinked the rain out of my eyes, trying to balance myself while she screamed about my demise.

I’d never felt this sick, nor this disappointed. All this walking, all this time, just to come to a dead end. Was there nothing in this cursed forest that would help me, nobody who would have the heart to take pity on a stranger? 

I looked at the pixie mother while she tore at the air in her senseless tantrum. Her chest was hollow, with a light where the heart should be.

This is what the fae were. No hearts; only filthy magic.   

I stood with my feet apart, barely noticing the rain had turned into a lazy drizzle, and gripped my hatchet with both hands. The pixie mother was a large target and she couldn’t move out of the way, unless she disappeared beneath the earth again. 

She was no threat to me anymore, but I’d feel better knowing there was one less of her kind in this world. Like putting an animal out of its misery.

I threw the hatchet. It spun through the air and lodged itself in the crook of her neck, sending her screaming in agony to the opposite side of the mushroom circle. 

Damn it. I’d aimed for the head. 

“You worthless piece of meat! I will kill you!” 

Her pale hand curled around the haft and she yanked the blade out of her flesh, where it left a large gap that threatened to sever her arm. She threw the hatchet to the ground with a pained whimper. The light in her chest had diminished, flickering weakly with each breath.  

I took out my ax. Seeing it, the pixie mother’s face twisted in rage again and she was once more at the other side of the circle, trying to reach me while shouting orders to her still incapacitated pixies. Her mangled arm, though still attached to her torso, was quickly decomposing.

The ax was harder to throw. If I missed this time, I’d only have Grandmother’s knife left. 

“Do it.” The pixie mother grinned, flashing her tiny sharp teeth. “I want to tear you apart myself.” 

She should’ve hidden. It was my luck she didn’t. 

I threw the ax. She curled her arms up around her head, but it wasn’t what I’d been aiming for. 

Instead, the weapon slammed against her with a thud. For a moment I’d wondered if I’d missed, if the lack of a satisfying cut and reaction meant I’d lost my chance, but as the blade fell away, I could see the forest through the creature’s chest. 

The green light was gone, dissipated into sparkling mist. 

A mass of white roots slumped over. Its facial features unraveled, limbs tumbling apart into a thousand tiny threads, until all that was left was a pile of rotting, worm-like growths. The pixies at my feet were gone. 

I stood there, soaked through and empty, and all I could think was whether the pixie mother’s remains would make for a comfortable bed for the night. But as I carefully stepped inside the mushroom circle, the roots I touched crumbled away into dust. 

There was no triumph. No sorrow. No anger. There was nothing but exhaustion and despair. 

I was truly alone. Nobody would come to help me; nobody would help me if I came to them first. I was lucky to have survived this long at all. 

I picked up my weapons and strapped them back to myself. At least the rain had finally stopped. 

I swallowed tears, knowing I wouldn’t rest until I found Sinéad or until I died. I’d known that since I began this journey, but now I realized which was more likely. And I hated knowing I’d failed, that I’d rot away in the belly of some beast while my sister suffered at the hands of …

There was a sound. 

I spun around, yanking my hatchet from my belt, and stared out between the trees. Through the quiet dripping came a distinct clapping of hands — a slow, mocking applause. I couldn’t see whoever was making it, nor hear where it was coming from: it was close and everywhere. 

“Impressive. I did not think you would be so adamant, nor so hardy.” 

That voice. 

All other thoughts burned away, replaced by white-hot rage as I fruitlessly growled at the air around me. 

“Show yourself!” I shouted in response to Lord Thorne’s words. 

“Very well.” 

He stepped out from behind a tree with all the nonchalance of walking through a door, a playful smile on his face.

I wondered what he’d look like dead. Whether he’d rot and fade away like the pixie mother.

“Where is she?” I snarled. “Where is Sinéad?” 

“She is quite safe and sound, I assure you.” Lord Thorne’s smile turned almost … warm. Like he took pity on me. Like he wanted me to feel better. 

A newly familiar sensation touched the back of my head. It felt different now — instead of a mother’s soothing voice, it was a lover’s caress, a whisper against my neck, soft fingers moving across my skin.

I shivered, paralyzed. Lord Thorne spoke, but his mouth wasn’t moving, and his warm breath was a noose around my neck. 

“Give her back, you son of a bitch!” 

I charged at him. Or I wanted to, until a spear pierced through my head and I collapsed to the earth. 

I couldn’t see. I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything but the pain as it wrung my brain inside my skull, daggers piercing through my mind and gouging out my eyes from the inside, tearing through my nose and ears and forehead like wolves at a carcass. It spread to my spine, shattering every vertebra in its path until my body howled in agony. 

I wanted to die. I wanted to die to make it stop, anything to make it stop. There was nothing but the pain.

But then, it released. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. Feeling the cold air enter my lungs again was greater than any pleasure I’d ever felt before and I stared gratefully at the wet leaves against the pale white sky. My body was fragile but whole, strong, unharmed. My heart was still beating. My blood was hot as it dripped across my cheek and into my ear.

I swallowed, realizing the pain in my throat, before rolling over to spit out some earth that had gotten into my dry mouth.

“Interesting.” 

Another pain, this one small and insignificant, shot through my skull as if remembering what his voice had done to me. I tried to speak, or growl, or anything, but my voice was gone, and my body was too heavy to lift. All I wanted was to collapse and sleep on the wet earth. 

“I have never encountered a human that could resist me, even as poorly as you can.” Lord Thorne took several steps into the clearing and his leather boots squeaked as he leaned over me, his blond locks spilling forward. I tried to reach for my hatchet, but my fingers were too weak.

“Oh. Hmm. The stench is something else,” he said curiously, each word making my ears ring. “You remind me of cattle, I think. Or perhaps a rabid dog. Feral and angry and thirsty for blood.”

“Want to give me yours?” 

My voice was non-existent, but he must’ve heard, because he laughed and straightened, walking around me with open interest, even enthusiasm. “You don’t look powerful. In fact, you look quite pathetic. And yet …”

“What have you done with Sinéad?” I hissed.

He paused and frowned as if genuinely surprised I’d ask about her, “She serves a greater purpose now.”

I screamed and swung my hatchet toward his legs, only to meet air. 

Another whisper, another caress, and another blinding pain that destroyed my head. 

I fell face down into the earth and writhed there as the agony tore through my mind and body again, but this time, I could at least hear myself scream. And I knew, at the back of my thoughts, that I couldn’t die, no matter how much I wanted it. My pain would be over; Sinéad’s had only begun. 

It released me again and my body went slack. Hot sweat mixed with the rain, making me freeze in the cold air. 

Thorne kicked the hatchet out of reach before squatting down next to me. 

I wanted to kill him. I wanted my rage to sear him from the inside like his voice had done to me, but all I could do was stare as he reached out and gently brushed wet hair out of my face. I couldn’t even flinch away from his disgusting fingers. 

He smiled, his pretty face repulsive. 

“Such fury. It is almost beautiful. Admirable, even. It is your greatest weapon, beasty. You could do great things with it.” Lord Thorne smiled with terrifying, genuine fondness. He stroked my cheek with his pale knuckles, watching his skin touch mine. “But not without proper control. A little human girl like you cannot carry such a powerful, heavy burden. It needs something to anchor it, give it a purpose. I could make you stronger. Give you the guidance you crave.”

The last word dripped from his lips like honey — I wanted to rip his tongue out. 

“Where is Sinéad?” I spat. 

He snapped out of whatever fascination had taken him and met my gaze with apparent frustration. Finally, he stopped touching me and stood up again, disappearing from my field of vision.

“She serves a greater purpose, as I said. If you had been prettier, perhaps you could have joined her. But your strength is not valued by my fellows, you see. I do not make the rules, at least not yet.” He sighed and stuck out his lower lip in consideration. “Now, what shall I do with you? If you intend to—”

He cut himself off. I struggled to sit up, to move at all, but something had Lord Thorne looking around in the clearing with a frown and his eyes wide with apprehension. He spared me a quick glance before shrugging and stalking off to where he’d come from. 

“He’ll do worse to you than I ever could,” were his parting words. 

For minutes I waited for whoever was supposed to show up, whoever had scared Thorne off. But my head hurt from the torture of Thorne’s voice, my body was exhausted from vomiting and the battle with the pixie mother, and despair clawed at my chest, sapping all my willpower. If someone came to kill me, I hoped they’d do it while I slept.